


Blindness

by NymphOfTheFountain



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Blindness, Car Accidents, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Free Indirect Speech, Hurt/Comfort, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 56,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NymphOfTheFountain/pseuds/NymphOfTheFountain
Summary: Everything changed after the car accident. When he opened his eyes and saw nothing, Itachi realized he had to relearn how to live.He was trying. But this new world, this pitch black universe was drowning him. At least now he could feel the cold breeze, the grass on his skin, and her fingers interlaced with his.It was his time to learn that the worst blind is the one who doesn’t want to see.





	1. Chapter 1

Dim sunlight percolated through the windows, trespassing two layers of curtains. Some of rays, bold enough, ventured slowly up to the bed, hitting him fully. In the middle of his doze, Itachi turned, trying to guard with his back some more minutes of sleep. Unwittingly he opened his eyes; the picture half white and blurred, thanks to the pillow. The rest of the sight was the same room he had left the day before, when – after what seemed days of eternal work – he managed to steal some hours of sleep to his restless life. Blink.   
  
He hadn't had a chance to rest this much for a lot of time; at least, since he entered to _Akatsuki_. Balancing the demands of his new job and the Uchihas, especially his father's, was almost impossible. With every passing day, the dark circles around his eyes ―which he had carried since childhood― became bigger and blacker.   
  
In some minutes, he was asleep again.   
  
Around ten in the morning, a light successfully knocking his face took him away from slumber. He got up of bed slowly. Downstairs his mother and Sasuke were yelling at each other. Why were they discussing now? It was something related to housework, of course. A smile crept over his face. Itachi made his bed with little effort and walked down to the dining room.  
  
“Good morning, kaasan, Sasuke.”  
  
“Itachi, why the hell are you up so la-” His little brother stopped in the middle of the sentence, Mikoto had thrown him out of the room while murmuring an _ungrateful_. Then, she addressed her eldest son.   
  
“Ah! My love, you already woke up. Come here, I’ve made you breakfast. You have to eat in order to be strong, don’t you, my love?”  
  
The dining room was large, beautifully decorated and blessed with all the objects Mikoto considered necessary to create a complete indoors space. It was full of red, brown and amber shades, and was made of wood: everything needed to make it august to the eye. The table was big enough to endure more than twenty commensals, a requirement in the family business. At the back of each chair was finely carved a paper fan, the Uchiha symbol.   
  
“Kaasan, is something wrong?” Itachi asked while trying not to fall on the ground after eating the big amount of food his mom had cooked. He didn’t feel a lot of enthusiasm about food; actually, he preferred a good book rather than a pompous feast ―like those his mother insisted on cooking―.   
   
He had noticed his mom was accompanying him while eating, and she was very obliging, more than usual.   
  
“Would you help me to clean the house?” Mikoto asked, and suddenly she commented in a harsher voice, meant to reach her younger son, “Your selfish brother didn’t want to help me.”  
  
“Mom, I already told you I have to study!” Sasuke complained from the next room.   
  
“No. You just don’t feel like helping your poor mother!”  
  
Itachi smiled. He was happy to see his mother's and Sasuke's faces, in spite of the fighting. He got up off the chair.   
  
“Kaasan, I’d love to help you. But please, let me wash breakfast dishes first.”

* * *

Itachi was in his bedroom, reading a random book and savoring his short vacations. He had spent most part of the morning and afternoon helping his mother in everything she asked, he liked being useful. He brought a glass with water to his lips and drank a little, then, concentrated again in the novel.  Sun was setting when he noticed Sasuke standing in his doorway.    
  
“Itachi, I need your help.”  
  
Said man looked at his otouto with love.  Sasuke was nervous. What did he need?  
  
“Is everything alright?”  
  
“Naruto is in trouble again.”  
  
Itachi sighed and stood up. This wasn’t the first time the boy got into trouble, Naruto, an orphan since childhood, used to search for attention everywhere. He was arrested once or twice a month, almost always for innocent crimes like painting graffiti or minor damage to public property; but, sometimes, the boy exaggerated and ended up in street fights. When his godfather Jiraiya was alive, Naruto stopped all types of destructive behavior, but after the writer died, Naruto's attitude became worse.   
  
The world was ocherous; the last sun rays collided against mirrors. Sasuke was agitated. He would never accept it, but he loved the loud idiot like another brother, they knew each other since childhood, although he always saw the boy like an impulsive, extravagant idiot, he’d learned to appreciate him over time. Never in life he would find a better friend. Of course, he will never say that to anyone, and would deny it even if it meant dying.   
  
“What did Naruto do this time?” Itachi questioned, his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road, driving as fast as legally possible.  
  
Sasuke observed the lines of his hands.   
  
“A street fight.”  
  
“Is he okay?”  
  
“I don’t care,” Sasuke answered, trying to avoid showing his sentimental side.   
  
The oldest brother decided to leave the conversation aside, his otouto wasn’t going to say anything else.    
  
The Police station was a  large building, almost completely empty; Konoha’s crime rate was really low. A long time ago his family was the only one in charge of maintaining the city safe, but everything had changed. Now the Police Forces belonged to everyone and everyone could be a part of it. Just some Uchihas held the tradition, for example, Shisui. Right now, most of the clan was in the business guild.   
  
He parked.  
  
They got out of Itachi’s car, walking towards the Police station. When they entered the building, a cold zephyr permeated their marrows; Itachi felt the freezing and synthetic smell piercing his nostrils. Next, he saw his best friend approaching him.   
  
“Shisui.”  
      
“Oh God! Why him?” Sasuke muttered, rather annoyed.   
  
“Itachi-chan and the little jerk,” the oldest Uchiha greeted while messing with the youngest hair. “You came for the brat?”  
  
“Yes,” Itachi answered, meanwhile Sasuke extended his rant against Shisui.   
  
“Come. The pink haired girl is with you, right?  She arrived some minutes before, but a minor can’t make herself responsible of Naruto.  You will do it, Itachi-chan?”  
  
The mentioned covered his disturbance at the nickname, nodded and called for Sasuke, whom already had a Sakura hanging off his shoulders.   
  
“There, my comrade is with Naruto. You just have to sign the papers.”  
  
“Due to the fact that Uzumaki-san has been incurring again and again in the same vandalism activities, social work is going to be assigned to him. If he keeps committing these activities, he will go to jail.”  
  
“Oh no. He won’t do this ever again. Right, Naruto?” Sakura threatened, her fist tight.   
  
“Yes, Sakura-chan.”  
  
Itachi smiled, Naruto's answer was like a desperate shout for help. 

He said goodbye to Shisui, not before promising they were going somewhere soon. Then, he exited the building with his three young companions.   
  
“Hey, Itachi-niisan. Thanks. Are you going to Ichiraku with us?”  
  
“Idiot, don’t call my brother like that. And, who told you we were going to eat?”  
  
“Yes, Naruto.  Just Sasuke and I are going to eat together.”  
  
“Sakura,” said girl looked at Sasuke with gleaming, sparkly eyes. She was praying to be asked out, “get lost.”  
  
His young brother loved to act like a fool. Itachi sighed. After bidding his farewells to Naruto and Sakura, he started driving back home. He couldn’t understand why his otouto was so rude and selfish; he hadn’t been raised that way. What had happened? Sasuke remained silent and watched the buildings flying behind them.   
  
“Maybe you should be kinder to Sakura-san, she appears to be a nice girl.”  
  
“Hn.”  
  
“Sasuke, don’t you think you are too old to never have had a girlfriend?”  
  
“At least we are tied on that, you’ve never had a girlfriend, either,” Sasuke insisted, flustered. He couldn’t believe he was talking about that with his oniisan.  
  
Itachi laughed, seeing his brother that embarrassed improved his humor, which in his rest day was already good, even being the reason such a trivial topic.   
  
When he led his sight back on the road, he saw a vehicle moving towards them at high speed. He tried to turn the car, but it was too late. He thought on Sasuke, his otouto, the younger brother that couldn’t die because of him. The headlights light spread through Itachi’s entire cornea; the sun was now encrusted in his eyes.   
  
Everything was light.   
  
He didn’t notice when the cars collided; he just knew that slowly, he was coming back to the chimeric world of darkness. Every passing moment, he could sense his consciousness drifting away, a bonfire drowning quietly. Itachi knew he was going to die, he regretted leaving his mother, his father, and Sasuke. The world was lost.  
  
The cars crashed diagonally, for the Uchihas, the driver’s seat was the most affected. Small glass splinters were scattered around, forming little mountains in the carpet, some of the crystal pieces were still moving in an intricate dance Sasuke never thought he would find so interesting. An eternity passed until Sasuke recovered his intelligence and realized what was happening, they were in the middle of a car crash. Itachi didn’t seem to neither breathe nor move. He did what he thought better; he started dragging his oniisan out of the vehicle.   
  
The teen Uchiha didn’t feel pain, he was pondering if it was because the adrenaline of the moment or if he had been, as a matter of fact, that blessed. Whatever. At this moment, he cared more about his big brother than about himself. Itachi was always helping him and healing him and being the perfect brother. Reluctantly, he took his brother motionless body out of the car. City’s sight was bright, even in the middle of this dreadful situation. He needed to vomit.   
  
When his brother’s body touched the pavement, Sasuke despaired. All the circumstances he had lived until that instant, every one of the fights, the tests, the discussions with his father, everything lost its significance when he comprehended his brother’s body, Itachi’s body was  lying lifeless on the ground. He centered his glassy eyes on Itachi’s chest, trying to find movement, the typical ups and downs of the alive.   
  
He was breathing.   
  
“Nii-san”  
  
The only thing he could do was staying there, pray for the ambulance to get soon, thinking about how he will tell his —their— mother one of his sons was dying. Fast, another thought filled his mind, he sought the owner of his disgrace, he wanted to see the bastard that produced the accident, the man that almost killed his brother. Sasuke wanted revenge; he had to kill that scum.   
  
The loud sound of a siren took him away from his musings.

* * *

“Again, Sasuke, explain to us what were you doing and why Itachi is here.”

The Uchiha family was in the waiting room. When the ambulance arrived the first thing Sasuke did was calling Shisui, he’d know what to do. Itachi considered him a big brother, after all. Then, his cousin called Mikoto and Fugaku. Now all were anxiously waiting for Itachi’s awakening.   
  
“I told before it wasn’t my fault. The other guy ignored a traffic light and was driving really fast, faster than allowed.”  
  
“Fugaku, sweetheart, Sasuke is saying the truth.”  
   
Sasuke observed his mother, she was drowning in tears. When they went into the hospital, she started screaming and crying because his two sons had been killed and almost fainted when saw an almost scratchless Sasuke. She had been holding his hand all night and giving him kisses on the cheek randomly.   
  
“I’m sure he is okay,” Shisui said. He was taciturn and quiet, the complete antithesis to his natural character.   
  
“He will be alright. He is an Uchiha, after all,” Fugaku seconded, sealing the beginning of a prolonged silence, solemn and sepulchral, which only Mikoto dared to break with her sad cries, followed by Fugaku comforting words.   
  
At dawn, a nurse approached them asking for the Uchiha family.  She looked happy and a good news carrier.    
  
“We are pleased to announce you that Uchiha-san is safe. At this moment, although he is still unconscious, he has been moved from the Intensive care unit. Because he hit his head, we want him to stay some days here so we can monitor his brain activity.”

* * *

The first thing he felt when he woke up was the smooth caress of the sheets. He slid his fingers across the silky fabric, slowly. Then, he felt it: a creeping, intense pain in the lower part of his head, almost in his neck. Instinctively, lifting his upper body a little of the hospital bed, he took his hand to the place the pain emanated from, it was wrapped in bandages. He remembered everything, the crash, the light, Sasuke.  
  
“Sasuke."  
  
The rest of his body also hurt, especially the left part of it.    
  
“Your brother is alright,” A woman mentioned, “You will be here a couple of days, we hope that is okay. We just need to do some tests. In the end, the hit your head received was very strong. Feel free to tell me if you feel something strange. Oh! And your mother will be here soon, we convinced her to go home and have some rest.”  
  
Quietly, he thanked her for the gesture. He wouldn’t have liked his mom to get sick just because she was taking care of him.  
  
The sensation of blinding light came back to him and he comprehended there wasn’t any light now, everything was dark. Itachi opened his eyes. No, his eyes were already opened; he had opened scarcely some seconds after waking up. Everything continued to be in the same darkness. Why? He closed his eyes. He opened his eyes again. Nothing. The entire world had dissolved in black.   
  
He tried the same procedure three times more. Each time hoping that sight will come back to him. It didn’t. When he understood it wasn’t working, he only could perform the human act of bringing his hands to his eyes, as if taking away the darkness that covered his cornea with just a movement of his fingers was possible. He decided to surrender, then, turned his head to where he thought the nurse was.  
  
“Is something wrong, Uchiha-san?” The nurse asked as she had noticed her patient strange gestures.   
  
“I can’t see.”


	2. Chapter 2

He moved his hand over the balustrade. Small. The carvings in the handrail he had bumped with were small. Varnished wood was smooth. Now, without his sight, he needed to recall every single stair, every cavity. He started counting the stairs, that way he wouldn’t trip. _One, two, three, four_. He paused and took away a hair that had fallen on his face. _Five, six, seven, eight_. Itachi heard to Shisui’s voice, he was telling one of his absurd jokes, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere the house kept since he had lost his sight. _A couple more and then the first floor._ His hand didn’t touch the balustrade anymore. He ventured some steps, trying to find another surface that could lead him.   
  
His hands encountered something silky. A curtain? He walked with his hand on it.   
  
A breath.   
  
 “Nii-san, what are you doing? You know kaasan hates when you walk downstairs alone.”  
  
Sasuke.   
  
Itachi sighed. Lately, everyone underestimated him, even his little brother.  
  
 “Sasuke, I can walk downstairs without help. You shouldn’t worry that much.” His outoto held his hand like Itachi was a small child. “Shisui is already here. Isn’t he?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s waiting for you in the living room. I was going up for you.”  
  
Itachi frowned. He wasn’t angry with his little brother. No, he loved him too much to hold any kind of animosity against him. Itachi was exasperated with himself, if he had paid enough attention, he wouldn’t have ended up in a traffic accident.   
  
“Bye, Sasuke.”  
  
The blind man stepped towards the living room, freeing himself of the grip his brother had applied. When he’d lost his vision, he started training his memory, remembering the number of steps he had to give to get into the bathroom, knowing every corner of his room, counting the stairs.  
  
“Wait, Niisan! Let me take you there.”   
  
_I can do it, little brother_ , Itachi thought; he was already entering into the living room, anyway.  
  
“Itachi, why are you here so fast? Sasuke didn’t want to help you…” Mikoto said, squeezing to death his older son.  
  
“Kaasan, I am capable of walking around the house without help. I can move my legs.”  
  
“But darling, What if you get hurt?”  
  
Itachi was silent; he realized there was nothing he could say to change his mother’s mind.  
  
Finally, Shisui spoke.  
  
“Itachi-chan, let’s go. We’re going to be late.”  
  
He made his way to the door, bumping into a chair that definitely wasn’t there before. His mother quarreled Shisui, but no one seemed to care: lately, Mikoto quarreled all the time. Shisui circled him with his arm and gave him the cane that was placed by the door.  
  
Said cane was white, another reminder of his total blindness and his recently discovered uselessness. Itachi took the stick and escaped from Shisui’s embrace, he was able of walking to the car by himself ―or at least, he could try―.  
  
Getting out of the house wasn’t difficult, he knew the way, so many medical trips had made it easy. A great attention had to be put on the stairs. The cane moved from side to side at every step. _One. Two. Thre-._  
  
 “Itachi-chan, we are gonna be late if you don’t walk quickly!!”  
  
He continued moving the cane across the black space in front of him, trying not to step on the grass. Finally, he collided with a metal-like surface.  
  
“God, you are really slow. Come”  
  
Soon he was seated in his cousin’s car, listening to the last summer hit and thinking about nothing in particular.   
  
“Y’know Itachi, I’ve never seen you so mad since you thought Sasuke was being bullied.”  
  
His cousin threw a small laugh.  
  
Shisui was always right, even if his commentary hid behind a layer of noisiness and triviality. At this moment, his life was obsolete; he had thrown away his family, his work, his life.   
  
“After talking with Tsunade, we are going to the mall to get you a date. Ah! I haven’t been with a girl with for a long time, and you left your only girlfriend after a week,” Shisui exclaimed full of joviality. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed Itachi’s depression. After so many years with his stoic cousin, he was capable of perceiving his emotional changes.   
  
“I don’t think going to the mall will be a good idea. I’d prefer to go home after talking with Tsunade-sama.”  
  
“Don’t be a party pooper. And, who told you that you could decline? I’m the driver.”  
  
Silence.  

  
“Ah! Uchiha-san. You are here for Itachi’s weekly revision, aren’t you?” Shizune asked while searching for the patient on her agenda. Itachi was seated in the waiting room, with his eyes closed, that would not make a big difference now.  
  
“Tsunade-sama will attend you in a minute.”  
  
“Okay, pretty girl”, Shisui answered, using his known coquetry while filling the form. Then, he seated with his best friend.   
  
“Shizune said that Tsunade will attend you in a minute”   
  
“Do you need to flirt with everything that moves?” Itachi joked.   
  
“Hey, I’ve never flirted with you.”  
  
Itachi laughed.  
  
“And I hope you never do”  
  
“Itachi Uchiha. Room 5”  
  
He sighed whilst standing up. Was Shisui going in with him? He didn’t want him to. This was something Itachi preferred to do alone.  However, he knew that, anyway, he needed his help.  
  
Tsunade read again her patient inform. _Total cortical blindness caused by trauma in the occipital lobe. Damage to the optical nerves_.  
  
“Itachi-san, sit down, please.”  
  
“Tsunade-sama,” answered the alluded, like a greeting.  
  
Then he made his way to the chairs, slightly touching objects with his cane. Shisui followed from behind, waiting for him to take a seat.   
  
“What’s up, Tsunade-baachan”  
  
“Shut up, Shisui!”  
  
“How are you feeling, Itachi?”  
  
He almost could see her with her medical report form, writing every little detail of the interview.  
  
“Better than last time.”  
  
“Have you felt any pain?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
There were days were a sharp, needle-like pain inserted itself on the lower part of his head. First there was an intense sting, then as a rock thrown into a lake, the spam traveled to all his head in waves. On the more severe occasions, he had stopped anything he was doing to lean on his bed. Controlled breathing, ignored agony, and everything dark: his mind created distorted images: in red and blue and white and black, too much black; the suffocation of falling. After a while, he used to fall asleep. When he waked up, the pain was almost always gone.  
  
“I see. Disorientation, dizziness, hallucinations?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Any symptom you want to talk about?”  
  
“I feel more tired than normal.”  
  
“Okay. Are you eating well?”  
  
 “Maybe a little less than normal.”  
  
“Are you sleeping more or less than usual?   
  
“I’m sleeping more, but that’s because I have more time.”  
  
“Any other activity?”  
  
“Nothing. My mother doesn’t want me to help her”  
  
“How’s rehabilitation?”  
  
He had officially finished it some weeks ago.   
  
“Good.”  
  
Tsunade exhaled sharply.  
      
“I already know what’s happening. It’s usual after this kind of accidents.”  
  
“What do you mean, Tsunade-sama?”  
  
“Itachi, try to find activities to do: get a hobby, learn to paint or listen to old music. You need new things now, make new goals. You need to find a new reason for living.”  
  
The neurologist got up.  
  
“Itachi, I’m going to have a superficial look. I’ll prescript you some exams for the next revision”  
  
The doctor took his head and started looking. There wasn’t anything strange; it had been an internal wound, after all. She palpated the part of the head had received the trauma, asking the humdrum _Does it hurt?_ Itachi not even moved; the wound had stopped throbbing at the touch a long time ago.   
  
“It’s everything all right?” Shisui asked.  
  
“Everything’s perfect.”  
  
“Here. Take his prescription. Some painkillers if he feels pain and a pair of exams I need him to do,” Tsunade said, whilst handing in the paper to Shisui, “See you next week. If this apathy continues, I’ll have to send you to a psychiatrist. Understood?”   
  
“Yes,” Itachi answered.  
  
Itachi had dismissed any kind of psychotherapy before. They couldn't force an adult, even less a person as private as him to talk about his deepest anxieties with a stranger. However, he understood that given the case, he would have to follow the neurologist instructions. 

* * *

 “What do you want to do? Are we going to search you a lady or do you want to buy something first?” Shisui asked, parking the car casually.  
  
“Yes, I want to buy something.”   
  
“What?”  
  
“A book.”  
  
In his poor spare time, he used to read. That was before, clearly. However, some tug on his loins —a whim—, was driving him to the places he had enjoyed before. He knew he couldn't read, however, he wanted to believe he could. He needed a book.   
  
“A book?”  
  
“Itachi, I didn’t want to be a jerk, but you’re blind. You can’t read anymore.”  
  
He stayed silent and got off the car.  With his cane in hand, Itachi started to make his way to where he guessed the entry was.   
  
“Alright. Let’s go to the stupid bookstore...”  
  
The walk to said store was awkward. It was the first time since the accident Itachi went to the mall; he could feel everybody’s gaze, following the white form of his cane. Shisui remained.  
  
Both of them entered the bookstore.   
  
The scent of books and air conditioner hit his nose.  
  
“Hey, Itachi-chan. I have to go out to the bank…”  
  
Why Shisui had waited until this moment to announce it was a mystery. However, for Itachi it was good. He preferred to be alone. A sudden strike of melancholy was sieging his heart. He couldn't see and the world had just progressed, continued, advanced; he always knew he was insignificant, but this... What was he supposed to do now? Tsunade said 'Go on' but there wasn't any path to follow. He was floating in—lost breath, air accumulating in the throat, a successful attempt to guard his distress — the nothingness.   
  
“Go now, I’ll wait here for you.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“The faster we finish, the faster we can leave.”  
  
Yes, he longed home, he longed for the scent of loneliness and worry and helplessness.   
  
As Shisui left, Itachi advanced into the place. He started walking aimlessly.   
  
It had been a lot of time since the last time he roamed around this place. When he worked at Akatsuki, time was too short to read anything. But now he couldn't read. Nothingness and self-hatred. The last time Itachi was here, he was searching for a business book. He didn’t even like bus-  
  
Suddenly, a voice interrupted.  
  
“Excuse me, can I help you?”  
  
A lady.  
  
“Philosophy section, please.”  
  
Schopenhauer, yes.   
  
“Well, then you are pretty lost.”  
  
“What do you mean, miss.”  
  
“This is the erotic literature section.”  
  
She smiled, or, at least, he thought she did.  
  
“I’m blind.”  
  
He waited for her apology and an offer of help.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He tightened his grip on the white cane, he didn’t understand her. She walked a little closer to him. Maybe now she was going to act like the rest of the world, maybe she would want to help him, ask him if he was lost or if he was waiting for someone.   
  
The girl’s voice suddenly became softer.  
  
“I’ll leave you alone. Once you choose your book, seek me so you can pay the book. Sorry if I bothered.”   
  
I can't find a book, she knows it, Shisui knows it, Sasuke knows it, my mother, my father, my family, they all know it.  
  
She started to walk away. His hand was fast secured around her wrist. It seemed like a natural gesture; as if touching her arm was the only thing he needed to do.   His nerves itched.   
  
“Excuse me, do you need something?”  
  
_It's impolite touching people without their permission._ He had to go, he was disturbed. He let her wrist go.  
  
“Blinds don’t read,” he muttered.  
  
“Yes, but you can read to the blind,” she answered. "Isn't that the idea?"  
  
Itachi sighed. Suddenly, he felt extremely dumb for following such stupid impulses.   
  
“I didn’t plan to buy anything, anyway,” He answered, trying to find his way.  
  
He wanted the girl to say something. He wanted to hear her talk again. He wanted to have a nice conversation about something different.   
  
But none of them uttered another word. Why? Shyness? Pity?  
  
Shame.


	3. Chapter 3

_Satomi Fumihiko._  
  
Itachi sank deeper into the armchair. A constant waving of thoughts didn’t let him concentrate on his Braille system exercises. Now, he knew her name. The girl he painfully embarrassed himself in front of. Wasn’t he getting obsessed? Shisui had found him in the entrance of the bookstore, leaning against the glass door, waiting for him. However, his cousin passed him and got into the shop. The girl greeted him with a cheerful voice and he answered with an equally cheerful hug ― It wasn’t difficult to know when Shisui was hugging someone.  
  
“Where were you hiding?”   
  
“I was studying. Luckily enough, I’ll be admitted on Konoha’s Philharmonic Orchestra.”   
  
“Whoa! That’s great.”  
  
“Now, why are you here?”  
  
“I was accompanying my cousin, Itachi. He was here like two minutes ago.”  
  
“Oh! I think he’s waiting for you outside.”  
  
“Did he do something strange?”  
  
“Not really.”

Probably a lie.  
  
Itachi couldn’t but smile at that answer.   
  
Itachi couldn’t but smile again when remembering that answer.  
  
_Satomi Fumihiko._ Shisui had told him her name while they were walking around the shops. She studied piano at _Konoha’s Conservatory_ , lived with her uncle in the center of Konoha, liked to read and to play the piano. “And she’s really cute too. Just in case, you were wondering”, Shisui had added.   
  
_Why do I miss someone I’ve never met_? Itachi asked himself, not completely serious. He remembered the line from an old song; it seemed legit to recite it. He was thinking of her again, the peculiar lady of the bookshop.   
  
A part of him wanted to go back to the mall, just to ask her what was she doing and what she thought of him. But, he was sure that wasn’t the right thing to do, it would be too disturbing. Uchiha men were famous for their strong and easily-acquired obsessions, a family trait one received along with black hair and dark eyes. However, he had to control his desires. Meet Fumihiko-san. Yes. Talk to her, understand her interests and dreams. Become her friend. Maybe. But not to claim to be in love without knowing her, love at first sight ―for a very apparent reason― was something he couldn’t experience.  
  
 His hand brushed the small dots in the paper, another word to be deciphered. He was still very slow; his fingers weren’t sensitive enough to catch all the details at first touch. _The fat rat sat on the mat._ He turned the page; another group of dots welcomed him.  
  
 “Itachi. I’m going out. Do you need something?” His mother asked with her sugary voice.  
  
“I don’t need anything, thank you kaasan.”  
  
“Okay then, I made you some rice balls, I’ll put them on your desk,” she said, “If you need something, don’t doubt to call. Do you have your phone near?”  
  
His mother kissed his temple and left him alone.  
  
He sighed. Mikoto was leaving the residence; he overheard the tingling of her keys and the stun of the principal door closing. Once again, he restarted the _reading_.  
  
Itachi wondered what everybody was doing. Everybody as his brother, that wasn’t at home, Shisui, Kisame, Deidara and Sasori (old colleagues of Akatsuki). He even wanted to know what Fumihiko-san was doing. Then, a nervous bolt caught him. The world was still spinning and yet, he was trapped here, in his house, without the ability to get out without stumbling over objects. What could he do? He was now a prisoner. Deep breaths.  He needed something different to do.  
  
He was also supposed to find a new hobby. That was what Tsunade had said. He had to defeat his little stagnation. Deeper into the chair. He was having lots of free time; actually, he had nothing to do.   
  
Gardening? Yes, maybe gardening.  A nostalgic smile crossed his face. When he was a child, he used to help his mother with the backyard. Roses, violets, lilies; he took care of them in a small place assigned to him. However, when he entered into school, he couldn’t continue to take care of his flowers, underbrushes and time ended with his little flowers. This was a good time to start everything again.   
  
In a move caused by wistfulness, he stood up, with his hands, he supervised his way out, and then, he walked down the stairs, with the flavor of an expert. Itachi will definitely ask his mother to buy some flower seeds to plant in the garden. Jasmine was perfect; when it had grown the flower aroma would dance across the house. Itachi went to the kitchen, crossed the always open back door and got into the garden.   
  
A warm breeze tickled his marrow; it was summer, after all. What time was it? Some hour in the afternoon. He breathed deeply, waiting until his lungs couldn’t take more oxygen in, then, he exhaled. Any other advance was banned; if his mother still kept the garden, searching for flowers will only cause damage to the plants. He was blind, he’ll have to crawl to find them and not even that would guarantee they wouldn’t suffer his ineptitude.   
  
Suddenly, anxiety crushed his body. He started to shake and the warm summer night became fragile and cold. Before knowing why or how a tear slipped across his right cheek. Just one, he didn't cry. No more tears, be responsible, this is your fault. What should he do now? He tried to fill the void in his chest. Nothing would ever be the same as before. He was blind, and everything was dark, and any light was forever gone, and he was a failure, he had collapsed, and what about his family? He had abandoned Sasuke. He had disappointed his father. His mother was crying every night. Flowers weren't going to fix his life.   
  
What now? 

* * *

The room was saturated in a viscous black. Clear rays trespassed the watery darkness, like bullets. But he couldn’t recognize anything. He couldn’t move, there wasn't pain, but his nerves stretched and shrank.  He couldn’t breathe. The last shreds of obscurity ―a wet and pitch black obscurity― dropped around him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. Everything was engulfed in an immaterial ivory. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was dazzling and white, objects didn’t exist and he trembled, he trembled because the light was tearing apart his veins. His lungs collapsed, a bouquet of daisies grew from their remains, roots nailed down of his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Bitter taste of petals and the light. Too bright, blinding.   
  
Breath, see.  
  
And his eyeballs fell, defeated by the force of the flowers. A rose in his left eye socket, a jasmine on his right.   
  
Breath, see.  
  
His heart collapsed into a cataract of blood.   
  
Breath, see.  
  
Itachi drowned a scream in his throat, he didn’t want to wake anyone, he shouldn’t wake anyone. Cold sweat wandered across his face, the room was burning and moist. It was difficult to breathe. Everything was black, again.  His eyes were wide open. In a desperate motion, Itachi made his hand travel throughout the darkness, in search of his phone. Shivering. He didn't find it. Writhing.   
  
He found it.   
  
_Satomi Fumihiko._  
  
“Do you know what her favorite music piece is?”  
  
What was he doing?  
  
“What?!”  
  
Itachi was trying unsuccessfully to calm himself. His voice sounded rushed and ragged.   
  
He was useless. A mere puppet.   
  
“Fumihiko-san, her favorite song.”  
  
“Man, are you okay? It's three in the morning,” Shisui sighed.  
  
A deep breath.   
  
"Yes. I'm fine." No, he wasn't.  
  
“You know what; ask her tomorrow, she invited me to a concert. I’ll ask her if you can go.”  
  
“Wait. Don-”  
  
“Night.”

* * *

“C’mon I’m just trying to help,” Shisui whispered while jostling his cousin.   
  
“Help by making me come to your awkward reunion?”  
  
Until now, Itachi didn’t understand how Shisui had persuaded Fumihiko-san.  
  
“You heard what Tsunade said, new activities and this is a nice, new activity that even you can do.”  
  
Itachi clicked his tongue, upset about what he about to do. Nevertheless, he thought, deep inside, his best friend was right. That’s why he was there, holding his cousin’s arm.  
  
“Satomi-chan is really cool and laid-back when she opens up.”  
  
Itachi sighed.   
  
“And, you don’t really have to talk; we’ll be in a concert room most of the time.”  
  
They were late, thanks to his cousin. Hot steam ascended from the ground. Itachi studied again and again what to say to her, but he couldn’t find anything to say. There wasn’t much about him now, and he had always hated to talk about himself. He wanted to ask her so many things ―he still didn't know why― but, he shouldn’t.   
  
Outside of what one could think, they weren’t attending to a piano concert, but to a symphony. Fumihiko-san just wanted to talk with Shisui, she wasn't performing.  
  
“She’s there,” Shisui announced.   
  
After walking across all the parking lot, they arrived at Konoha’s Auditorium. The girl was waiting for them at the entrance.   
  
 “Satomi-chan!”  
  
“Shisui, it’s nice to see you.”  
  
So, like her cousin, she barely used honorifics...  
  
“He’s Itachi, although you already met him. Itachi, she’s Satomi Fumihiko”  
  
“Nice to see you again, Uchiha-san.”   
  
But for Itachi, there was an honorific.  
  
She recognized him.   
  
“I’m also glad, Fumihiko-san.”  
  
He extended his hand, in a typical gesture of kindness. Satomi took it, maybe too softly to call that action a handshake. Nonetheless, it was enough to feel her hand sliding through his palm.   
  
 “So, what are they going to play?” Shisui asked, blessing the almost light atmosphere.   
  
“Brahms Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68,” she answered, a sparkle of light in her voice, “We should enter now; you got here only on time.”  
  
Then she started to get into the auditorium, her steps further and further. They followed her, slightly surprised by the emptiness of the place.   
  
“I hope Uchiha-san will like it. Usually, people think classical music is boring,” she whispered once they had found their seats.  
  
“Don’t worry. Itachi has always been a fan of classical music.”  
  
She just giggled softly.  
  
He stayed silent, absorbing the sound of the chord instruments while they got into key. He smiled.  
  
Not a lot of time passed before the orchestra was ready to play, an applause horde was heard as if preparing the room. Then, the place was filled with stillness and expectation. Every person was holding their breath. He would have liked to watch Shisui, see his eyes reflect an environment so different from what his cousin was used to. He would have liked to see Fumihiko-san smiling, he was sure she was smiling. He would have liked to see how the bright place became more obscure until only the scenery was illuminated. He wanted to observe the formation of the musicians and to see the frenzy of the music director.  
  
Every contemplation ended when he listened to the first chord. His body relaxed and the pangs in his chest stopped. The notes felt as if liquid emotion was running through his ear. He’d never felt music this way in his life. And finally, he comprehended what he had heard so much, that most of the time using one sense didn’t allow you to truly develop another. He was so attached to his sight that he had forgotten how beautiful life was. Yes, he was different now. He would never see his son, or to draw in his memory his wife-to-be white dress. But, at least, he could live again.  
  
He was still alive. 

* * *

 “It was fun.”  
  
 “Shisui, you were already asleep at half of the piece!” Satomi scowled him, with the most serious expression she had held in all the night.  
  
“Ha. You caught me,” He answered, laughing and scratching the back of his head.   
  
“You shouldn’t have agreed if you didn’t want to come,” She sighed.  
  
“I’m sure Shisui wanted to see you, but this kind of events isn't his favorites,” Itachi said, wearing the smile he had obtained in the concert.  
  
“At least, I’m happy you enjoyed, Uchiha-san.”  
  
He laughed. His humor had clearly improved.  
  
“You can call me by my name if you want.”  
  
“Okay, then you can call me Satomi, Itachi-san.”  
  
But the honorific was still there...  
  
He took another sip of his tea. The warm air of the night touched his skin.  
  
After the symphony, Shisui and Fumihiko-san had decided to catch on, after a long time without seeing each other. They went to a small café near the Auditorium and, with a few of Itachi contributions, talked about different subjects.   
  
Now, Shisui was driving him home.   
  
“You are of a better humor. Aren’t you?”  
  
“It was interesting.”  
  
“See, I told you Satomi was really nice,” Shisui said.  
  
“Indeed, she seems gentle.”  
  
“And she’s also really pretty.”  
  
“You’ve already told me that.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains_ , Itachi read, his hands dancing, already expertly across the dotted paper. He had been learning braille for several weeks. The first days were difficult, but reading with his hand had become an almost natural ability. He had requested Shisui to buy him some philosophy books, tired of puerile sentences and trivial readings. The more he demanded himself, the faster he would dominate braille.   
  
From his bedroom, he could hear his mother cooking dinner.  It was dusk and the air grew wetter, cold slipped slowly to the house through the window. The next summer he would inhale the scent of jasmines; he had planted them the day after he first thought about it, his mother had reassigned him a place in the garden.   
  
_One thinks himself the master of others, and still remains a greater slave than they,_ Rousseau proceeded, as Itachi followed the line.   
  
Then, Sasuke and his father got home.   
  
“I’m home.”  
  
“Welcome home. Dinner will be ready in some minutes.”  
  
Itachi closed his book. It was almost time for supper and he wanted to check his flowers before eating.  
  
Now Itachi didn’t have issues to move around his house, he didn’t even need touching the walls or the furniture to walk in his room. He knew at perfection the place his bed, his chair, desk and night tables were at, and he made sure everything was always at the same spot.   
  
Outside his room, he found Sasuke.  
  
 “Hey, niisan!”  
  
“Sasuke, how are you?”  
  
A gentle smile appeared on his face. He loved his little brother.  
  
“The company is becoming international, so we have lots of work.”  
  
“I see,” Itachi answered, snickering a bit and hitting his brother’s forehead with his fingers.  
  
“Good evening, otou-san”  
  
He saluted as he traversed the dining room.  
  
“Itachi,” his father replied.   
  
Finally, he found himself in the backyard, touching the soil and checking his flowers, they were alright.

* * *

“Itachi, why don’t you join your brother today? You haven’t gone out for three days, that’s not healthy.”  
  
“It’s not necessary kaa-san, I like to be here,” answered the alluded whilst cleaning another plate.   
  
“Nonsense, I know your brother would be really glad if you went with him. Right, Sasuke?” Exclaimed Mikoto, looking at his younger son with a very, very big smile.  
  
Sasuke shrugged while murmuring an _Itachi prefers being alone_.  
  
“You are finally more at home and you are passing all your free time imprisoned in that room of yours reading. You only go out to eat and take care of your flowers. Your family is also important, Itachi!”  
  
He smiled after listening to his mother; Itachi cared so much for his family that tried not to be a burden. Even if his life wasn’t over, even if he could enjoy new activities― pleasant activities― even if he had learned braille, even if when Satomi-san and Shisui talked to him, he felt like a regular man; he had to admit that doing trivial things wasn’t as simple as before.   
  
Mikoto smiled too, after son many years along with her son, she had learned to recognize all the little symptoms of emotions that trespassed the barrier of his mask. Both smiles were sad, sharing a tragic kind of understanding.  
  
“Go, go now, I’ll finish.”  
  
The women led them out of the kitchen with little pushes.   
  
Itachi sighed and turned to his little brother.  
  
“Do you want me to go with you?”  
  
“Nii-san, let’s go”, Sasuke answered.  
  
Sasuke liked to walk. He used to do it at dusk when everybody was resting and the sun had already settled. He wandered almost every night; it was almost a sacred routine: dinner, helping his mother with the dishes, talking with his father about a random article, and then,  walking.   
  
Before, when Itachi had had the time and Sasuke asked him to accompany him, he did it. At those times, this had usually been the only instant he could see his brother. They didn’t talk; the presence of the other was enough. However, since he lost his sight, he had avoided such walks. Yes, he had more time, but his lack of vision would hinder them, using the white cane would make their steps slower.   
  
He followed his little brother to the door, and there, he took his white cane. He tried to stay at his brother’s side, the sidewalk was wide.   
  
Would they walk in silence? With so many years on their backs, they didn’t have to talk. Sasuke was at his side, walking slower than he usually would, he had to wait for Itachi.  
  
“What interesting things happened to you today?”  
  
“Today, Naruto broke in the _Uchiha Corp_. building, shouting he wanted to play video games, the idiot spends all his day doing nothing and then he bothers me at work. Later, he got into another fight. Then, Sakura-chan, that was on guard, had to attend him ‘cause he broke his arm.”  
  
“Naruto-kun is still trying to get over Jiraiya's death…”  
  
“That idiot gets into trouble and then disregard it like it was nothing.”  
  
Sasuke was furious; his hand rolled into a fist and grabbed his T-shirt fabric.  
  
“Don’t get mad, he has been alone all his life.”  
  
“Also, cousin Obito came back yesterday, he asked for you this morning.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Dad told him you were better, at home and slowly recovering.”  
  
“That’s an intelligent response.”  
  
Itachi stated, finding clever the vagueness of the sentence.  
  
“Uncle Madara is also worried.”  
  
“Is he? He shouldn’t. You are better than me at negotiating.”  
  
“No one is better than you…” Sasuke started, but realizing his brother didn’t like the theme, he slightly changed it, “Otousan and kaasan think you are staying too much time inside the house, they are worried.”  
  
“Sasuke, I’m trying to fix everything that’s happening.”  
  
Dullness in his voice.  
  
Suddenly, his little brother stopped.   
  
“Niisan, I…” Sasuke muttered, with a voice shaking with hopelessness and guilt. “If I hadn’t told you to…”  
  
“It’s not your fault. Don’t think more about it.”  
  
He managed to position himself at his brother’s height, and then he drew his forehead close to his brother’s.   
  
“It’s not your fault.”

* * *

“Itachi-san.”  
  
“Satomi-san.”  
  
“How was your day?”  
  
“I went for a walk with Sasuke” It wasn’t outstanding, but he desired to tell her.   
  
“I wish I’ve had walked today, the night was beautiful, wasn’t it?” She said, “Today I was visiting my father and then I had a really, really long rehearsal.”  
  
There wasn’t too much to add, so he just stayed silent.  
  
“Itachi-san, do you want to go to my first presentation with the orchestra?”  
  
The pitch of her voice went higher. After talking to her several times, he had started to understand the peculiarities of her speech, for example, when she said something that made her feel vulnerable, her voice was softer and higher than usual. Then, when she finished whatever information she needed to say, she made her pitch lower, as if she tried to recover the dignity she hadn’t lost.   
  
He smiled, honestly, he felt flattered to have been invited. He would go.   
  
“I’d love to.”  
  
A sting of excitement pierced him.   
  
“Great! I already asked Shisui-san and he said he would go ―even though if he doesn’t like classical music― so if you want to, you can go with him.”  
  
“It’s on Friday, hope you aren’t busy.”  
  
“I will be there.”  
  
“Wait for you there,” she said while ending the call.  
  
Just as he hung off his cellphone, he heard someone knocking his door. The sound was too bitter, too sad, it brought a bad omen. He erased the smile that his friend had left, raised his guard and opened the door.   
  
“Son, Madara wants to talk to you.”  
  
His father was straightforward, his voice uniform and serious, although he could notice a glimpse of concern. Itachi knew this day would come. Even if Uchihas weren’t as traditional and conservative as in the past, they still had some typical customs. Madara, a really old man, lucid nevertheless, still had a certain control over all Uchiha. It was a miracle that Madara hadn’t appeared before to talk to the one that once was T _he Uchiha Prodigy_.   
  
Itachi kept his tranquil expression and walked down the stairs inhaling the dense air that his grandfather had created. Fugaku followed him, staring at his neck. Itachi knew Madara was in an armchair, with Mikoto offering cookies and tea while saying she wasn’t prepared for a visit, Sasuke, tense in the sofa.  
  
“Itachi.”  
  
Madara greeted him.  
  
“Madara-sama.”   
  
Then, there was silence. He figured out Madara was slowly sipping his tea. Itachi wanted to end this as soon as possible, he wanted to talk to Satomi-san and tell her that she was going to do it wonderfully. His relationship with Madara had never been good to begin with.   
  
“How have you been? I’ve heard a lot about you lately.”  
  
“I’m slowly recovering, as you should have heard.”  
  
“Slowly is not enough for an Uchiha. The faster you recover your sight, the faster you can come back to your work.”  
  
He refused to talk for some seconds. His vision couldn’t be retrieved and even if someone found a way to make his brain comprehend what his eyes were seeing, why should he come back to that old life?  
  
“He is not going to recover his sight,” Fugaku interrupted, so his son didn’t have to pronounce such dreaded words. “Even Tsunade, one of the greatest neurologists of the world said it was impossible.”  
  
Then, silence became thicker.   
  
“So I guess is useless to try anything else,” Madara sighed. “However, I can’t have a disabled Uchiha. It’s degrading for the clan.”  
  
“My son is not doing anything that could be considered dishonoring,” Fugaku replied, his voice suppressing anger.   
  
I’ll search for an institution to intern Itachi.” Madara finished. Then, he stood up and left the house. The pure astonishment averted anyone to replying. Lost breath.   
  
Visceral pain. Dizziness. Burning air.  Madara was finally right, he was being useless. He was unnecessary now. What he wanted to do, leech off his family forever? He had to find something solid, something to hold onto, if not, he would dissolve. Yes. He had to be taken away. He was preoccupying his mother and his brother; even his father was distracted the first days after that happened. Sacrifice. He was tearing them apart.   
  
He didn’t need to see to know his mother was shaking. Softly, he touched her arm whilst whispering comforting words. Fugaku left the living room, angry, and Sasuke remained quiet. An emptiness forming in the pit of his stomach. He knew he had to leave. But, he wanted more time. Egoistic.   
  
“Itachi, darling, today has been a really long day, hasn’t it?” His mom told him, swallowing sadness like she always did. “Why don’t you go now to bed? You must be tired.”  
  
“As you please kaa-san.”

* * *

  
Shisui led him backstage.  
  
She was laughing. An honest, beautiful laugh. One that didn’t’ seem to carry any of the burdens of the world.  
  
“How did I do it?”  
  
Wonderful.   
  
“You were great!” Shisui exclaimed.  
  
“I’m sure I slipped up sometimes.”  
  
First, she hugged Shisui.  
  
“I’m so happy you came.”  
  
Then, she got closer to him, her warmth throbbing against his cold skin. But, in the last second, when Itachi thought the embrace was imminent and asked himself how he should respond or if he should even respond, she changed her mind, and instead of hugging him, she touched his arm in the sweetest way possible and touched his cheek with hers, as simulating a kiss without the intimacy of the lips.   
  
“Thanks for the flowers.”


	5. Chapter 5

A black hole was consuming his loins. Madara planned to hide him away and unless he wanted his entire family to sink into misery, Itachi had to follow the elder’s instructions. A failed breath. Everyone in his home was unsettled. Until now, the true understanding of Itachi's condition hadn’t hit them; it seemed he was simply on vacations.   
  
But he was so tired now, tired of destiny and tired of the failure of life and tired of himself - yes, that was what he was truly exhausted about, bearing his own useless body, bearing with the bloody daisies that plagued his eyes, bearing with the ripped chest and the acidic blood that sprouted every day, every nightmare, every time he dared to taste his mouth -. Itachi just wanted to heave up and down up and down, away, -like a abandoned ship- and then, in the middle of the ocean be swallowed whole.   
  
He sighed; the antique mask was attached almost perfectly to his skin. His life reconstructed in seconds: walls up, doors down, the personification of serenity and competence. People couldn’t see through the massive uniform unless he let his guard down.   
  
“One minute more and finished”, Satomi interrupted his avalanche of thoughts as she walked across the room with heavy boxes packed with new books.   
  
He would have liked to help, but situating the books on their assigned shelf was really difficult for him: reading the name of the author and the genre of the book was unthinkable now.  Shisui had attempted to help, but his assistance had been subtly denied.   
  
“We’re okay. Do everything you need to do,” Shisui answered, eyeing some section with little enthusiasm.    
  
Itachi leaned against the counter, listening to the small talk of his friends, voices alternating with the dry noise of a knife licking the cardboard of a specific box.   
  
Shisui had taken him out of his room in the evening, alleging they should visit Satomi-san at work. He knew Mikoto was concerned and had charged her nephew with the hard duty of taking him out.   
  
“Done!” She exclaimed with a happy exhalation. “Now, what do you want to do?”  
  
“Have you already eaten?”  
  
 “Not since lunch.”  
  
“Let’s go to the food court.”  
  
Satomi turned off lights and closed the bookstore.   
  
They walked to the food court while listening to millions of Shisui anecdotes. Satomi dedicated herself to throw small comments here and there when she suspected her friend was going to stop talking.   
  
“…and that’s how Konoha’s Police defeated Ao and his gang”  
  
“I think this would be more exciting if he hadn’t already told that story one hundred times,” Satomi whispered with all the intention of being heard.   
  
“Hey!” Shisui exhaled, annoyed.  
  
“Whatever. Itachi-chan. What do you want to eat?”  
  
Itachi rolled his eyes.  He wasn't a child, nor a woman.   
  
 “Anything.”  
  
“Dango? I'll bring dango.”  
  
“What about you, Satomi-chan. What do you want to eat?”  
  
They found a table.  
  
“Don’t worry, Shisui. I’m going to see what’s there to eat,” she answered.  
  
Itachi stayed down, too tired to join Shisui or Satomi.While stretching, he touched grazed a cardboard box. Probably Satomi's. Probably books. 

Why was he tired? He wasn’t completely sure yet. Everything was a tangle of despair and dullness, knowing that he failed was slowly taking him. These days, the only thing that was on his mind was Madara telling him it was time to go.   
  
It was hilarious that two years ago Madara wanted Itachi to be the company’s new CEO.   
  
He didn't notice his friends were back until Satomi's voice appeared.  
  
“Are you okay Itachi-san? You’ve been spacing off all day.”   
  
It was silly, but that made him smile. Did she care about him? Nevertheless, for her, Itachi was perfectly fine. He was going to answer with an _I’m alright. Nothing’s wrong_ followed by an abrupt change of topic, like _How everything with the Orchestra?_ or _When is your next concert?_ But Shisui was faster.   
  
 “Itachi has been brooding a lot lately.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“He’s just too stubborn, that is what’s wrong. He insists on staying all the day in his room when he should go out and have fun.”  
  
He was eating his recently-received dango in silence; nothing could be added to the conversation. Trying to convince her of something different now would be useless.  
  
“I tell him he has to go out more, but he never listens.”  
  
“I understand," Satomi muttered while twirling the pasta with her fork. “Itachi-san, if you want, we could go out today, the three of us…”  
  
 “He’s already out of his room.” Shisui blurted, laughing at his own goofy little  joke.   
  
“There is a fair near the Nakano River. We could go there.”  
  
Itachi only answered after some time had passed and it was a certainty that Shisui wasn’t going to reply for him. Why wasn't he? His cousin loved to decide everything for him.  
   
 “Today?”  
  
 “You are already out,” there was the intervention Shisui had just omitted.  There was no escape.  
  
He sighed; Itachi didn’t want to do anything today. Right now, Itachi just wanted to sleep. However, Shisui had dragged him to the mall, and now he was going to spend part of his night away from his room.  
  
After finishing the food, they headed to the parking lot. Satomi walked alongside Itachi.  
  
“You are going to love the fair. We’ll eat junk while the stalls’ owners swindle us.”  
  
Shisui snickered, Itachi gently smiled at the teasing. 

* * *

“What happened to your car?” Shisui asked half-way to the fair.   
  
“I’ve never had a car. You know it. My uncle always thought it wasn’t necessary. Now, I think the same. And I rather take a bus or walk.” Satomi said from the back seat.   
  
Itachi, as he did lately, listened quietly to the conversation. He still had on his arms the books Satomi had taken from the bookshop. He had insisted on carrying them to the parking lot, and after a long discussion, she had accepted.   
  
“You should get one. Deep inside you want it”  
  
 “No.”   
  
“C’mon, Satomi-chan. Let me corrupt you.”  
  
Itachi started to smell the sweet and greasy aroma of fried food blocks away.   
  
“There’s the fair!” Satomi said once it was on her range of vision.  
  
By the Nakano River, there were hundreds of stalls, each one with different games. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the men dressed in extravagant clothes, trying to bring people into their business. In the sky, the warm vapor of different food stands created a peculiar choreography. The rides rose over the fair, their lights reflected on the river. But for Itachi, all that existed were the infinite litany of laughs and the melodic tune of the Ferris wheel.   
  
The three of them were shocked when they found a sea of people at the entrance. Hundreds of people walked, laughed and ate there, forming a large tumult. They advanced slowly through the mob. Shisui in front, trying to help the other two; Satomi dragging Itachi and trying to follow Shisui; but just as Shisui made a hole in the great crowd to pass, it closed behind him.  Now and then, Itachi bumped into someone and apologized.  
  
After what looked eternal, he and Satomi managed to get out of the crowd. Itachi exhaled, finding again the smell of grease and sweets.   
  
 “I can’t see Shisui.”  
  
He wondered if his cousin had escaped the cramped group of people faster than they or if he had just decided to leave them at their luck, following a lady or the fatty snacks.   
  
His friend groaned.   
  
“People are really dumb sometimes; they just stay there, in the worst site they could find!”  
  
He, in another moment, would have found this amusing, and would have tried to drive Satomi’s frustration away with a smile and a ‘don’t you think you are overreacting a little bit, Satomi-san’. But he was tired and wanted to go home. The whole idea of coming here was silly. He wasn’t a kid now; hence, he could not enjoy anything here.  He just stayed quiet, waiting for his friend to tell him what they were going to do.   
  
Satomi sighed and started walking again, taking his arm to guide him. They were heading out of the congested street, probably searching for a calmer place where they could decide what to do.   
  
They reached for a bench. The girl sat and tugged Itachi’s hand so he would do the same. He could hear the river flowing behind them. That was enough to appease him. Itachi leaned against the bank and concentrated on the sounds around him. Satomi sat on the edge of the seat, thinking about what to do.  
  
 “I’ll call him, he has to be near.”   
  
No conversation.  
  
“He doesn’t answer.”  
  
“Shisui had his phone when we went out,” Itachi stated.  
  
“I’ll try again.”   
  
Nothing.  
  
She was pretty nervous. She didn’t remember so many people the last time she was there. The big crowd made her anxious.   
  
 “Shisui is probably searching for us. I’ll find him. He might be near the entry. Wait here.”  
  
Itachi remained silent; there wasn’t anything he could answer. He only reassured her everything was fine with a smile.   
  
She stood up and went to search for his cousin. It would be easier to find Shisui if she didn’t have to worry about Itachi also getting lost. He sharpened his ear, maybe Shisui was near. But all he could hear was the river's flow and people chatting.   
  
Satomi came back fifteen minutes later. No signal of Shisui.  
  
 “He disappeared…”  
  
“Maybe we should go back to the parking lot and wait there for him.”  
  
“Maybe we should go?” She said “No. We are already here, we crossed the entry. Let’s have fun, even if it is without Shisui.”  
  
Her voice was strained. Itachi was probably worse than before. She was awful at helping him.   
  
 “As you wish, Satomi-san.”  
  
She stood up, again. This time impulsively. Said a ‘wait here, Itachi-san’ and walked away from the bench. Maybe she really wanted Shisui to be there, maybe she was going seek him again.   
  
She came back soon, but instead of sitting on the bench, she stood in front of him.   
  
 “Open your mouth.”  
  
“Why would I-?  
  
“It’s a surprise”, Satomi replied.  
  
His mouth tasted something sweet. He slowly chewed the rice candy.   
  
“Dango?”  
  
“Yes. Take yours. ”  
  
Dango was his favorite sweet. When he was little, Shisui used to take him to different cafés to eat. His cousin said Itachi had a taste too sweet for acting like an adult, and that he should never grow up if he wanted to eat dango. Itachi only answered that his mother was an adult and also loved dango.  
  
Probably Shisui had told her that story. That's why she had gone for dango.  
  
He finished his sweet and waited for his friend to finish hers.   
  
“I wonder where’s Shisui.” Satomi pondered.   
  
“We will find him whenever we leave.”  
  
“Do you think?”  
  
“Once, when we were younger, Shisui brought me to the fair. My mother was expecting Sasuke, who was problematic, even before being born. She couldn’t come with us. Minutes after we arrived, Shisui disappeared.”  
  
 “Oh…”  
  
“He came back an hour later.”  
  
“What did you do all that time?”  
  
“I just sat on a bench and waited for him to return.”  
  
She smiled. When an Uchiha opened up enough to tell any detail about their life, you had to be grateful. More if that Uchiha was as reserved as Itachi. He preferred talking about philosophy or literature than about himself. This was just a silly anecdote but was nice to hear it from him nevertheless.   
  
“Well, I don’t plan to wait for him all evening. Shisui will appear at any moment.”  
  
She helped him to stand up off the bench and took his arm, again. It was easier this way and he hadn’t brought his cane with him today ―Shisui told him it was going to be something quick, not a trip to this crowded place―.  
  
They walked to the center of the fair; people laughed all around them.  
  
“What do you want to do first?” He asked her. 


	6. Chapter 6

_They walked to the center of the fair; people laughed all around them._  
  
“What do you want to do first?” He asked her.   
  
“Let’s go to the Merry-go-round”  
  
The decision was surprising. Weren't they too old to go to a carousel? The ride was boring, only small kids and overly-in-love couples decided to take that ride. However, his friend was already dragging him there and he had already decided to be docile.   
  
The line was almost empty.  Satomi paid and guided him to what should have been a seat in the form of a teacup.  The machine started to spin slowly. Satomi’s gestures had become more and more those of a child.   
  
“When I was a child, every time my uncle believed I was sad, he took me to the fair. He said nothing made the sorrows lighter than coming here. He bought me food and entered with me to every ride. We had competitions in the stalls of Cross Bow Shoot and Fish Scooping. He was lying. Since I live with him I realized the only thing that makes him happy is reading. However, at the end of the day, he always fulfilled his mission: I always left the fair smiling.”  
  
The slow twirling of the carousel made him feel dizzy. A couple near him laughed, the sound became bells tingling is his ears.    
  
The last time he had been in one of these things was when Sasuke was eight. Albeit his little brother wanted to show himself as a brave man, he had asked Itachi to stay by his side the entire ride. He was standing all the time, smiling at his brother while he ‘rode’ a black stallion, as his foolish brother had stated later.   
  
“I know it’s silly. But maybe this can make you feel better. I don’t like when the people I care about is sad.”  
  
Satomi was kind and intelligent and talented and he was lucky he had ever met her and he was lucky she had borne with him and his arrogant attitude. 

* * *

 They had eaten cotton candy, gotten into the Ferris wheel, tried  terrible fried food and had listened to a street accordion player for an hour; and even now, there wasn’t a trace of Shisui. It was ridiculous how he had vanished. It appeared deliberate. However, Satomi had managed to keep them both busy while they wandered around the fair.  
  
The streets were more congested every second. It was difficult to walk. Satomi tried to lead him through people as well as she could, but the roads were narrow.  
  
They got out of the crowded place as fast as possible. However, at the last minute, someone pushed him forward. He begged to find an empty spot, but it was in vain. He managed to recover balance before touching the ground, but he bumped into someone -a female whimper was heard.  
  
“Are you alright?” Satomi asked the girl.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Itachi said, almost immediately.  
  
“No! My shirt is ruined!"  
  
“Babe, did that guy hurt you?”  
  
“You idiot, can’t you see where are you walking!”  
  
“He already apologized, what else do you want?”  
  
“It’s okay, Satomi-san, this is my fault they have the right to be angry.”  
  
The girl had an ice-cream, somehow he had managed to stay completely clean, but she hadn’t.  
  
Satomi tugged his arm as if telling him to leave those people and continue their night at the fair. Still, he always turned the other cheek, he always had.   
  
“This was my favorite shirt.”  
  
“You’ll have to pay for my girlfriend’s shirt.”  
  
Itachi took his wallet out of his pocket. Right now, he was able to recognize the value of ryos with their size. He gave them what he thought were 10000 ryo.  
  
“Wait! No! Don’t give them money!” Satomi muttered, “They’re just some idiots.”  
  
“Hope that’s enough.”  
  
"Wow! I think that’s more than enough.”  
  
“Yeah. Don’t bump into my girlfriend again or I’ll kill you.”  
  
They left, Itachi and his friend were in the middle of the road. He was feeling terrible.   
  
“Can we, at least, go to another place?”  
  
Satomi dragged him to a stall.  
  
Itachi’s heart was beating really fast. He felt disoriented and he hated it. What was happening? He couldn't know. Satomi was taking him somewhere. Why? He wanted to leave, he wanted to live (or die?) He had progressed, life was easier, but everything was gone now. Revulsion. If this wasn't the end of his, then why? If he didn't sit he was going to fall. He was already falling.  He knew it. If he had already rationalized all what had happened, why he felt so lost?  
  
“Here, you can sit. Are you feeling okay?”  
  
No.   
  
Breathe.   
  
She took his hand.  
  
“We can leave now if you want.”  
  
No. Satomi wanted to be here and he wanted her to stay happy forever.   
  
“No."  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Okay, then why don’t we rest here for a while?”  
  
She seated at his side.   
  
Silence. Bilis. Cold crawling in his heart. 

* * *

“Here.”  
  
The stuffed animal was fluffy. His palm caressed the small, soft fur. His skin tingled.   
  
“It’s a bear.”  
  
The stuffed animal was enormous. She had won it in a Cross Bow Shoot contest.  
  
“Isn’t it really soft?” She asked him, touching its ear. “I’ll put it in my room, next to my piano.”  
  
He laughed.  
  
“I think that’s all. We already visited all the stands.”  
  
“There is a place we hadn’t gone yet.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Kingyo-sukui.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Oh, you are right…” Satomi finally replied.  
  
“Let’s go there, then”

* * *

      
He held the stuffed bear with both hands.  Satomi had asked him to hold it while she tried in the Kingyo-sukui stall. That was almost an hour before and she didn’t seem near to catch a fish.  She was determined to win, but after so many broken poi, compassion had begun to rise around them.  Itachi used to be really good in that game. When he played, he always caught three or four goldfish with only one scoop.   
  
“You have to be quicker”, he mentioned, while kneeling at her side.   
  
“It’s not that easy. The scoop is made of a tiny, tiny paper. It’s impossible…”  
  
“Satomi-san, six-year-old kids can do this,” he said, remembering when he showed his brother how to do it.   
  
“What are you trying to say? I can’t be that bad. Why don’t you try, Goldfish-boy?”  
  
“I’m not sure if that is-”  
  
“Give me the bear.”  
  
She passed him a dry poi, one she hadn’t used yet. Then, she led his other hand to the bowl where he was supposed to put the fish.   
  
“You just have to be quick…”  
  
Was that mockery?  
  
Was he really going to do it? He would fail horribly. He had the bowl on his right hand, taking the fish there would be easy, the biggest problem was capturing the goldfish before the poi tore in the water. For him, the only way to detect a fish was feeling its weight on the net scoop.   
  
He tried once; there wasn’t anything on the poi.   
  
He put the net in the water, again. It wasn’t broken, he could use it again.   
  
Now, this was difficult.  
  
He tried again, moving the net as fast as he could. The goldfish jumped and the poi broke.   
  
Itachi returned her a torn up poi. She was mute. Shouldn’t she make fun of his failure?  
  
“I wasn’t quick enough, I think”, he said smiling.  
  
However, the snarky comment or the ‘it’s not that easy’ never came, instead, she started laughing.  
  
“I can’t believe you actually did it. The fish jumped into the bowl!”  
  
This was a surprise.   
  
“You are taking the fish, right?”  
  
The stall keeper was really amazed. He had supposed the strange couple would stay more time without winning anything.  
  
“Yes,” Itachi answered, whilst getting to his feet and helping Satomi to do the same.  
  
The stall keeper gave them a bag with the fish inside and they started walking away.   
  
Satomi-san marched at his side, instead of guiding him. She was still giggling  
  
“It’s unfair if you think about it.”  
  
She took his arm again. Itachi wondered where they were going.   
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I’ve heard you were a genius, but I never thought you…”  
  
“We’re all good at different things, Satomi-san. For example, you are very good at playing the piano.”  
  
He felt a small tug on his arm. Then, he felt no more the warmth. Satomi had stopped walking. Slowly, he turned his head.  
  
“Do you really believe that?”  
  
Didn’t she?  
  
He drew close to her. Maybe too close. Itachi searched for her hand and pressed it against his, Satomi’s skin was soft. Her hand seemed really fragile, even if it shouldn’t, she was a pianist after all; her hand was capable of playing really complicated pieces.   
  
 “You are an awesome musician.”  
  
“I…”  
  
She shivered. For a moment, he thought it was the first time someone complimented her. Again, Itachi smiled.   
  
“That time I heard you play, finally in a lot of months, I wanted to live.”  
  
Yes, he had heard her play days ago, after one of his sprouts of frustration.   
  
She hugged him. She hugged him as tight as she could, throwing the stuffed bear to the ground. She was warm. She was soft and smelled sweet. Slowly, Itachi’s arm’s encircled her waist ―the goldfish still on his hand―. She breathed deeply, he could feel her inhaling and exhaling, her back ascended and descended softly. He closed his eyes, there wasn’t a difference, but Itachi felt he needed to do it.  His chin rested on Satomi’s head.  
  
They stayed like that for some time. Itachi liked hugging her. When Satomi left his embrace, he felt strangely nostalgic.   
  
“It’s really late, let’s wait for Shisui in the parking lot,” she said in a high-pitched tone, picking up the stuffed animal.   
  
She took his arm and started walking.   
  
His cousin found them near the entrance.   
  
“Guys!”  
  
“I can’t believe you let your phone die,” Satomi muttered, with a childish voice and a pout.   
  
She guided Itachi through the entrance, sailing between another sea of people. Shisui was outside, near the entrance. Itachi wondered if her teddy bear was dirty, after falling on the soil.   
  
He had fun, for a lapse of time. He had really liked spending time with Satomi. A warm feeling still lingered on his chest. The night had been almost ideal.  
  
Now, what would be the name of his new pet?   
  
“Yeah. We are together now. The rest doesn’t matter”  
  
“It’s time to go.” Itachi intervened. It was late. He hoped his mother wasn’t waiting for him.   
  
“I know, I know,” Shisui replied, throwing a grin.   
  
They headed towards the parking lot. Satomi told Shisui everything she and Itachi had done ―except for her little breakdown at the end, of course―. He answered with what he had done: chasing this beautiful girl he had seen before in the mall.   
  
“Are you feeling a little bit better?” When they got into the car, Satomi asked him.  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Even if Shisui’s disappearance in the fair was really strange, he didn’t want to ask him why. Maybe what he had said was right, maybe he had only been really distracted. His cousin was one of the best policemen in Konoha, he was intelligent, intuitive and perfect for the job. When it was about solving crimes, no one could beat Shisui.  However, he left all those abilities on his desk in the police department.   
  
They went to Satomi’s house first. She lived with her uncle, near Konoha’s central Park. He knew her father was still alive, but hadn’t dared to ask why he didn’t live with her. She didn’t like to talk about her family.   
  
She said goodbye, getting off the car with the big stuffed animal in arms. She promised they would go out together again soon and that she was going to call Itachi the next day to check on him. Itachi exhaled a _bye_. Then, he remembered it.  
  
“Wait, Satomi-san. Your books.”  
  
“They’re yours now. A gift.”  
  
Halfway home, he dared to take the books out. They were all in braille.   
  
There were moments, in which Itachi felt alive. They hadn’t been a lot. His father was too exigent; he merely complied, secretly wishing Sasuke didn’t have to carry the same burden. He loved his family; he loved them more than his own life. But his dark circles were growing and growing every day. They had since he started school. He was a genius, everybody said it, he grasped concepts more easily; actually, everything seemed so easy to do for him.   
It started with demanding himself a little more, then more and more: he began working at the Uchihas business before he had even finished high school. Workloads were terrible. He forgot what it was sleeping. Sasuke wanted to spend more time with him, and he tried. He finished college years before he was supposed to, then he started to work for two companies because he thought he was perfect. He had lost so much time, and now he didn’t know what to do.  Years of sleep deprivation had made his mind a mess, even if he slept more now. Everything felt numb, like watching life through a glass. These last days, he had tried to pursue again happiness, but there wasn’t happiness before.   
  
But sometimes, he felt alive. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

They were in the waiting room. Outside of the hospital, the wind howled and leaves swayed, brittle and ready to fall into their grave.  Summer was already over. The sky had lost its brilliance, —at least, that's what he imagined. He hadn’t seen the firmament for five months and would never see it again —.   
  
Itachi took out one of his newly-acquired possessions and with opened the book on the last page he had read. It was really easy for him now, even in his actual state, learning was relatively easy. He was still that same old genius. Satomi had given him four books: _Les Misérables_ , which he was reading right now, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ , both by Victor Hugo; Voltaire’s _Dictionnaire Philosophique_ ; and Nietzsche’s _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_. Itachi had the non-braille versions lost in his bookshelf; unfortunately, he had never had enough time to read them.  Besides, those editions were now useless.   
  
“I want to meet the nice girl that gave you all those books. It was really sweet of her, wasn’t it?” His mother intervened. She had insisted on bringing him to his appointment today, as Shisui had been really busy lately. “And you look amused, ‘tachi. You received these books yesterday and you almost finish the first one.”  
  
He didn't have anything else to do.   
  
“I always liked it.”  
  
Somehow, the story of a man forced to sin, his redemption and sacrifice, suited him.   
  
“Uchiha Itachi. Room number five.”  
  
Said man stood up. He couldn’t deny he was mildly nervous. Everything was alright; his brain was working perfectly, except for the obvious. 

Headaches had completely ceased and the last exams didn’t reveal anything alarming. However, he had a bad presage. The neurologist had prolonged it for so long and Itachi was sure it was going to bring the topic out again.   
  
He started walking. His mother stood up.  
  
“It’s alright, kaasan. I can go alone.”  
  
“I haven’t talked with a doctor for a while and I want to be sure my baby is alright,” his mother sweetly contradicted him.   
  
She took his arm and guided him to the room number five, although he already knew by memory the way there.   
  
“Itachi-san. How have you been?” Tsunade asked him when they were scarcely passing the doorway. “Mikoto-san, it’s nice to see you here.”  
  
He was glad Tsunade didn’t hold her words around him. Some people used to avoid the words _see, look_ and synonyms around him.   
  
He searched for his usual seat.  
  
“Did you bring the exams I asked you?”  
  
Mikoto handed them to her.   
  
Then, it was silence. He and his mother stayed still while Tsunade turned the pages and read. Her mouth exhaled _hms_ and _tsks_ every now and then.   
  
“How have you been feeling lately, Itachi?”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“And, what does good mean?”  
  
He had readied a speech about how he had almost perfected braille, how he and Shisui went out and ―especially― on how his jasmines were growing beautifully. But then, his mother interfered.  
  
“Well, ‘tachi says he is feeling better now. But he almost never goes out and he looks so sad all the time...”  
  
“Okaa-san.”  
  
“It’s that true, Itachi?” Tsunade commenced, her voice demanding. “All the tests are okay except for the brain scan in search for depression. It looks like the accident will not have more direct consequences. However, your serotonin levels are dangerously low. Not as low as last time, but it would be risky to wait more. I’ve already waited for months. I’ll send you to a therapist.”  
  
“Tsunade-sama, I don’t think that is necessary. I do feel recovered.”  
  
“Nonsense. Why do you worry that much? The first month after the accident you had an appointment with a psychologist programmed every day.”    
  
His mother was quiet.  
  
“Tsunade-sama. I’ve always been introspective. There is nothing wrong in that. I don’t need a therapist.”  
  
“Yes, it’s not bad, but there is a difference between introversion and sadness. Sometimes is necessary, even if you don’t want to, talking to someone.”  
  
Tsunade-sama had arranged him an appointment with Inoichi Yamanaka, one of Konoha’s more renowned psychoanalysts.   
  
A slow feeling of defeat followed him back home, his mother rambling about how Sasuke was never home now.   
  
And Satomi said she was going to call him, however, it was evening and she hadn't called yet. What if something awful had happened to her? Itachi, she is alright. Having so much time to think was making him insane. Maybe he should call her. Poisoned hands.   
  
“Itachi, are you feeling okay? You haven’t said anything since we left the hospital.”  
  
“I was never home before,” He mentioned with a forced laugh in his throat.   
  
“Sweetie, I’m not mad at Sasuke. It just not fair I can’t have both of my children at home.”  
  
He felt her shuffling and moving near to him.  
  
“Now, why don’t you tell me what are you really thinking about. Is about Satomi-chan?”  
  
Sometimes it was easy to forget that his mother was as good as Shisui at reading him.  He tried not to show his new discomfort and took the cellphone from his pocket. It was not only Satomi’s sudden disappearance ―because when she said she was going to call, she usually did it earlier. She had rehearsals on the afternoons―, it was also the fact he wasn’t capable of getting better. He had tried to be happier lately, and last night he was really happy. It was unacceptable Satomi’s effort was for nothing. This is childish. He was better, there wasn't any reason to talk with Yamanaka. And even if he wasn't happy, he didn't have to. All his duty relied on taking care of his family.   
  
“Or is it about tomorrow’s therapy?” His mother took his hand. These moments were scarce. Mikoto was the kindest creature on earth.   
  
“ Itachi, I know everything about what has happened in these last months had been really difficult for you. But you know you can always count on us, your family, right?”  
  
Itachi trembled. These moments were so uncommon, he missed being a child and telling everything to his mother. The fingers she held were punctured by needles.   
  
“Satomi-san is someone really important. However, I’m more worried about Madara’s threat.”  
  
No, he didn't care about the therapist; he was just going to lie. 

* * *

Satomi called later that night. He felt so lame.   
  
Itachi was in his room, finishing the last lines of the book. There wasn’t much to do more than read or listen to music. The fish he had won at the fair made small bubbles while swimming. He could almost imagine the golden scales becoming light and dark with the movement of the animal's tail.  
  
“Hello,” she sang, elongating the _o_. “How are you feeling?”  
  
She sounded happy. He wished he could understand her completely. Was she really that happy? Or was she trying to appear that way to him? Maybe she thought that would make him happier. But thinking those as her reasons was pessimistic. As if happiness didn’t exist just because he didn’t have it.   
  
“Hello. Good.”  
  
“What have you done all day? Something fun?”  
  
Then, Itachi narrated her his day. It hadn’t been really exciting. Just a visit to Tsunade ―however, he decided not mentioning his appointment with the therapist ― and his return home. Satomi listened carefully like she really cared about his dull life.   
  
Suddenly, he remembered he hadn’t thanked her for the books.   
  
“Thank you for the books.”  
  
 He was going to add ‘I know they are much more expensive than normal books’, but he considered it was a stupid thing to say.  
  
“Did you like them? I asked Shisui about what would you like, but he wasn’t sure…”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ah! By the way, sorry I didn’t call earlier. Today I had a busy day. Three exams and two projects.”  
  
“You started studying again.”  
  
“Yes! I don’t think I will keep up with the bookstore this semester. I guess my uncle will have to hire someone or work there for himself…”  
  
“Sorry Itachi-san. I have to go. I have lots of homework to do.”  
  
“Bye.”   
  
The call was short.   
  
He sighed.

* * *

Itachi waked up almost at ten the next day. He didn't hear a noise in all the night; his audition was more developed and he usually felt when Sasuke and Fugaku came home. That meant they had worked all night. Uchiha Corp. had been really busy lately and it was not a shock Sasuke and his father had stayed all night working. He assumed that was the reason for Madara’s delay, as the man was usually more efficient.   
  
Downstairs, he could hear his mother frantic walking. She had to be busy. Maybe she needed help; he stood up and walked downstairs, the sound of high heels hitting the ground became clearer.   
  
She was going out.   
  
The taps on the floor became louder and louder until he knew his mother was near.  
  
“Good morning, kaasan.”  
  
His mother gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.  
  
“Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?”  
  
“Yes. Otousan and Sasuke didn’t come home last night.”  
  
“I think they have a lot of work to do.”  
  
Sasuke was overworking himself. He didn’t want his little brother to strain himself too much. He took a mental note to talk with him when both of them were home.   
  
His mother started walking again. Then, she stopped, like she had forgotten something and came back to his side.   
  
“Sweetie, I don’t think I can you to therapy today. With all what had happened, I forgot to run some important errands,” she apologized. “Your breakfast is in the kitchen. I already called Shisui and he doesn’t have the time either, I don’t think you can go today. ”  
  
“I can go alone. That is next to _Akatsuki_ ’s building. I know that street perfectly.”  
  
Although he preferred not to go.  
  
“No sweetie. We’ll find someone who can take you.”  
  
“Kaasan, I’ll take a taxi. Go and run your errands.”  
  
Mikoto didn’t seem too convinced. However, didn't have the time to ponder the possibilities.   
  
“Call me when you get there. And if you are lost ask someone to help you or call me, I’ll go for you.”  
  
“Bye, sweetie. I’ll be here at six”  
  
“Goodbye…”

* * *

Itachi knocked at the door, waiting for a response from the psychoanalyst before entering to his office.   
  
“Please come in.”  
  
He passed the doorway and made his way to the chair. His white cane sending vibes through his hand. The therapist waited serenely until Itachi was comfortable in his surroundings. The Uchiha sat and waited for the Yamanaka to talk.  
  
“Good morning Itachi. How are you today?” Itachi heard the shuffling of papers. The man was probably giving a last glance to his clinical history. “Forgive me if I don’t use the honorifics, but is better that way. The sole name is less ceremonious and we don’t need formality right now. Don’t you think?”  
  
“Yes, it’s perfect, Inoichi-san.”

He was incapable of being more informal.   
  
Itachi removed a little in his seat.   
  
“Well?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You didn’t answer my question, how are you feeling today?”  
  
A small smile crept over his face. He had confronted this question a lot lately.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Scribbling.  
  
“Tsunade-san sent you. Your serotonin levels are very low. ”  
  
“However, I don’t really feel sad, or depressed.”  
  
He heard a sigh.  
  
“Let’s start with the session, shall we?”  
  
Inoichi Yamanaka stood up and started walking to an unknown place in the room.  
  
“Come here. It’s more comfortable and less office like.”   
  
Some seconds later Itachi was seated in an armchair, the therapist seated in another chair, facing him with a paper and a pencil on his hands.   
  
“Why don’t you tell me more about you, Itachi-san.”  
  
“What would you like to know?” He asked, he really didn‘t like talking about himself.   
  
“Anything you’d like to tell me.”  
  
 He didn’t know what to talk about.   
  
“I finished a book last night. _Les Miserábles_.”  
  
“It's a good book.”  
  
Inoichi realized that conversation wasn’t taking them anywhere and tried to change the topic.  
  
“And tell me Itachi, what did you do yesterday?”  
  
“Shisui decided we should visit a friend, Satomi-san at work. Then, we went to the fair,” Itachi said, getting irritated. He didn’t like when others tried to get into his mind. Anyway, he didn’t think Inoichi was capable of doing it, this entire spectacle was useless.   
  
He already knew what he wanted to say, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he answered every question he was asked in a correct and short way.   
  
My mother seems preoccupied because I spend too much time in the house, but I like it. I like being alone and secluded and inside a small room. It is better that working in an office all day. I’m tired of being useful. I’m not sad, I’m not depressed. I don’t feel a terrible sadness overwhelming me. It’s not depression. I smile. As when Shisui jokes about stupid things or when I walk with my little brother, or when I talk with Satomi-chan about anything, it does not matter how trivial it might be.  But, now that I am not busy, the void of emptiness inside me has been  growing and growing. It has always been there. It’s not depression. Then, why did you bring me here?

* * *

He sighed and closed the door behind him, walking to the receptionist, whom he was supposed to ask for another session.   
  
“Good Afternoon, how can I help you?”  
  
“Good Afternoon,” he replied whilst handing to the lady the paper Inoichi-san had given to him.  
  
Then, she told him the date and hour of his next appointment.  
  
“Okay then, see you in a week.”  
  
He received the information left of the building.   
  
The day outside, as the day before, was windy. They were already in the middle of autumn, and everything should be orange and yellow right now. The sound of traffic and the smell of burnt fuel overwhelmed him. Itachi was ready to get a taxi.   
  
Then he felt a weight on his left shoulder. A hand. He turned slowly, trying to guess who was the person.  
  
He didn’t have to wait for much.  
  
“Itachi?”   
  
It was Kisame. Old friend. They had graduated together from high school and he was the one that recommended him to _Akatsuki_. He hadn’t talked to him for a while.  
  
“Oh man, you never called.  All _Akatsuki_ were really worried about you,” Kisame said, “how’s all going?”  
  
He was ready to answer, but the _Akatsuki_ member started talking again.  
  
“Let’s take a coffee or something. Man, you can’t just disappear from everyone’s life.”  
  
Kisame led him to a small coffee shop where some members of the company used to go after work. He ordered tea and something sweet to eat. Drinking coffee would excite his nerves and he wanted to sleep. Kisame ordered a black coffee and a croissant.   
  
“You have changed a lot. Before, you always asked for black coffee.”  
It wasn’t necessary now; he didn’t have a reason to stay awake. The long nights writing strategies had been replaced by flowers and books.   
  
“I guess I don’t need it now,” he verbalized his thoughts.   
  
They waited for their orders to be ready. Kisame seemed to be ecstatic to talk with him. And Itachi was sorry he didn’t contact any of his _Akatsuki_ partners after quitting.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Itachi walked across the park, feeling the grass flattening under his feet and listening to the soft sound his shoes made when they touched the ground. Every step on the soil reminded him the difference between nature and concrete streets.   
  
So much leisure time was killing him.   
  
His cane bumped with what seemed to be a trunk. He sighed while dragging his hand across the tree. This was a nice place to rest.   
  
That morning, Itachi had left a note at home, saying that he was going out. Then, he took a taxi, and now here he was, in Konoha’s park, walking aimlessly among agonizing trees and dry leaves. The sun was already high in the sky and rays of light passed through the foliage, touching his skin and warming his, otherwise cold body. He sat between the big roots of the tree and leaned his back against the trunk. Leaves crackled under his weight. Today’s weather had been nice. The wind touched him with its cold hands, it hadn’t rained and the sun was still emanating warmth.   
  
Everything had to be painted in ocher.  
  
He had brought another of the books Satomi had given him. Itachi opened it and continued his reading. However, concentrating was difficult. What had finally made him leave his home that morning was the hazy feeling in his stomach: it felt like the fur of the stuffed animal Satomi had won, tingling in his core.  A soft, gentle warmth that sometimes spread to his arms in electrical contortions. Your train of thought is completely astray, Itachi. Yesterday you were mad with the world and with your therapist but now...  
  
Acting like a teenager, that's what he was doing right now.   
  
A cell phone rang.  
  
“Itachi, are you okay?”  
  
“Yes, kaasan, don’t worry.”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“In the park.”  
  
“Do you want me to go for you?”  
  
“No. I’ll come back later.”  
  
“Have you eaten?”  
  
“Yes.”   
  
He and Kisame met earlier and ate in a café near the park.   
  
“If you need something, call me and I’ll go there for you.”  
  
“Yes. I will.”  
  
That was his mother tenth call. The next one would be in an hour or less.  
  
The feeling was still there. Now, he shouldn’t be giving importance to such insignificant things. He was an adult, an intelligent and reasonable one. But why he had dreamt about her? Well, it was probably not her. He had never seen her, therefore, the color of her hair and her eyes were unknown to him. All that he knew was Shisui’s descriptions.    
  
However, in Itachi’s dream, she had form and color and she was beautiful. He could tell it was her. He called her Satomi, and she smiled at him while seated at a grand piano. There was music in the background, and the color scheme of everything was pastel. Her lips pressed to his. Her hair barely touching his cheeks. Satomi playing the piano. Satomi reading aloud. Satomi singing to him. Satomi.  
  
A part of him wanted to believe it was just a way of coping with everything, his own mechanism of defense, but there was the warm feeling of his core ―Not desire, just tenderness, and kindness emanating off his insides― alienating him.   
  
Itachi had never been in love before -assuming this was love- nor had liked someone. The only time he had dated was in high school: a girl had begged him to go out with her and he didn’t want to make her feel miserable. He didn’t know how to manage this kind of emotions, just saying he liked Satomi was so much to bear.  He truly felt like a child. Concentrate. Read the book. _The book that Satomi gave you._    
  
He had to re-read the page again. He didn’t remember a single word of it. But after trying and trying, he managed to finish a chapter.   
  
After what seemed hours of trying to read and thoughts about Satomi -how kind and intelligent she was, the entire rendition of their afternoon in the fair and the disgracing fact that he still didn’t know her favorite song-. Itachi started dozing off.  He had been sleeping so much more than usual, the silence of the place, the caress of the wind and the dainty warmth of the sun, defeated any effort for staying awake.  
  
She appeared again in his dreams. He cared about her too much. Satomi with auburn hair. Satomi with big, blue eyes. Satomi smiling at him. Satomi playing the piano. Satomi marrying him. Satomi wiping his tears. Satomi catching his bad dreams.   
  
Itachi woke up half an hour later thanks to the cold wind that struck his body. He accommodated his scarf while fighting the stupor Morpheus had left. The warm feeling in his loins revived. Satomi’s voice, near him. 

  
This is madness. She isn’t here. He had idealized her. She wasn’t his salvation from blindness. Satomi wasn’t his last thread of sanity.   
  
But then it was again, her voice. Getting nearer and nearer. Someone walked at his side. Itachi realized it couldn’t be a part of his dream.   
  
His friend stopped walking some meters away from his tree, but didn’t see him, as no sign of recognition was perceivable. Itachi’s hands twitched. His nerves send electricity through all his body. Why now? In all the times, she could have appeared this was the worst possible moment. Not now, with his emotions and logic completely scattered around.   
  
However, every little complaint, every little emotion, every memory of the dream just disappeared when he heard her voice again.  
  
Sad. Satomi was sad, tear-stained words dripped from her mouth.   
  
“Yes. I went.”  
  
Her voice sounded constrained and weak. A heavy sigh.  It sounded nothing like the almost sung tunes she used to talk. Almost unrecognizable, but it was her.  
  
 “It’s getting worse. I-” Her voice broke as if she was going to cry, but the sound stopped immediately. She was stopping herself.   
  
He was not even paying attention to the words. Right now, he just wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be alright and that whatever was hurting her was going to stop.   
  
 “It’s okay.”  
  
“Don’t worry. I just didn’t think he-” her voice started to crack again. She emitted a hushed wail and abruptly started another sentence. “I’ll call you later.”  
  
Satomi hadn’t seen him. She just started to walk away. But he had to help her. Itachi stood up and followed the sound of her steps. His cane forgotten near the tree ―luckily he didn’t trip with anything―. Until his hand touched her shoulder.  
  
“Satomi-san”  
  
“Itachi,” his name left her lips like a cry.   
  
He flinched. _Don’t cry._    
  
She breathed deeply. As if trying to suppress whatever pain she was feeling.  
  
“What are you doing here? Are you alone?”  
  
“I was just enjoying the weather,” his information was followed by silence. “You seem upset. Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes, it's true. The weather is really good today. I-” This wasn’t the first time she left her sentences incomplete. He remembered she did the same thing days before, at the fair, in that instant her voice became heavy. “Where is your cane? Ah! I see it. Let’s go for it.”  
  
Satomi took his hand to lead him like she had done many times before. But this time, Itachi didn’t feel her warmth, her fingers were icy and she was trembling.   
  
“Satomi, are you alright?” He didn’t even realize he hadn’t used an honorific.  
  
“No. No. I’m okay. Don’t worry, just-” She exhaled deeply and bent down. She picked his cane and the book up. And muttered and hushed _here_.  
  
It made him frown.   
  
“Satomi, what happened?”  
  
“I can’t tell you.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I can’t t-”  
  
She broke down.  
  
First, she tried to stop sobbing, tried to normalize her breathing. Nothing worked. Small blows of air left her lips, followed of short wails and tears started pouring from her eyes.   
  
She tried to cover her face, but Itachi hastily grabbed her hands and drag her to him. He encircled her with his arms. Her tears falling down his shirt. For the first time, he noticed how small she was. How small her arms seemed, encircling his chest. She was so fragile. Her shallow breathing made her whole body trembled.  Itachi wanted her to be happy again, his cheery friend. They would talk about anything and she would laugh and then, he would smile. He was going to protect her, that way she wasn’t going to cry never again, Satomi just had to tell him what had happened and he would solve it.   
  
He was still holding her when her breathing became normal. His shirt tear-stained and his heart mourning. Itachi finally loosened his grip. She slightly shifted, her head touching his chin.   
  
“I think that was all,” she muttered, trying to look at his friend in the face.  
  
Itachi did the best he could to find the tears on her cheeks and clean them with his sleeve.   
  
“Thank you, really.”  
  
“Don’t worry."   
  
A sincere smile appeared on his face listening to a calmer Satomi.   
  
She breathed deeply.   
  
“You never told me what you were doing here alone…” Satomi sat. He did the same, taking the same place than before leaning against the trunk. “You can also enjoy the weather in your house.”  
  
“Wanted to change.”  
  
The wind moved the leaves around them and the sun disappeared once in a while behind a cloud. Satomi was sitting next to him, and with the breeze, her hair touched his cheek.   
  
“If you stay here a lot, you’ll get sick. It isn’t summer anymore. It’s a miracle it didn’t rain today.”   
  
But she stayed there, feeling the chilly wind and talking about random topics.  

* * *

“There is a violinist in the orchestra that says he knows you. Sasori-san.”  
  
“Yes. We worked together in _Akatsuki_.”  
  
“ _Akatsuki_? Yes, I’ve heard about it. Just really intelligent people can enter there, right?” Satomi chuckled while removing a leaf that had coincidentally fallen on his hair. “I guess you were a prodigy at school.”  
  
She was holding his hand again. In the middle of their conversation, she had just decided to take his hand.  Holding it by the wrist, she had tickled every finger and caressed his palm with her thumb.   
  
“Since when do you play?”  
  
“When I was eight, my uncle started taking me to classes. It’s a long time, don’t you think?” She was still melancholic, her voice betrayed her.  
  
Sometimes, when she was talking, her cheery tone became bluer and her hand became limp against his. Like this time.  He had tried to get information, but she didn’t want to talk about it. So every time he felt her moping, the topic of the conversation changed.  
  
“Once, when we were children, Sasuke locked me in the bathroom. So I wouldn’t go to school…” Itachi left out a chuckle, there was nothing sweeter than his little brother when he was a child. “I actually stayed with him that day, and our parents were really angry when they saw me there.”  
  
She laughed softly.  
  
Promise someday you will tell me what happened. Please don’t cry again, I don’t like seeing you cry.   
  
This time, he was the one playing with her hand.  
  
The sun became lighter and lighter until all that was left was the chilling air of autumn hitting their bodies. Even with coats and scarfs it had become too cold to stay outside. Satomi removed herself from his side and stood up.   
  
“Well, now I really think we should leave. It’s about to rain.”  
  
“Yes,” Itachi also stood up.       
  
The fuzzy had come back. He had embraced the new sensation and was now content with the truth he had just discovered. Itachi liked Satomi Fumihiko and in his core, small coils of affection had begun to form.   
  
“Come. We’ll call a cab from my house. It’s across the park.”  
  
Itachi took her arm as they walked in the direction of her home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Song: Étude Op. 10, No. 9 (Chopin)

“Be careful. You might trip,” Satomi said while guiding him through the furniture of her living room.   
  
Itachi seated on her sofa and whilst she walked across the room cleaning the mess his companion couldn’t see. Certain nervousness followed her around. Objects fell from her hands, she picked them from the ground, only for them to hit it again. She tripped against the furniture. _Are you alright? Please, tell me what’s wrong.  
_  
He knew she wasn’t going to be all happy-go-lucky so soon, especially after what seemed very deep anguish. Satomi wasn’t like that, her humor wasn’t so volatile. At least, she just was a little agitated now, not crying, not breaking down in front of him.   
  
“Do you want to eat something before going home?” She asked him, her voice forming from the other side of the room, “I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything for a while.”  
  
“I’m good, thank you,” Itachi answered.   
  
He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t a big eater and his meal with Kisame was enough.   
  
“Okay, let’s call a cab.”  
  
 Satomi seated in front of him, talking about the book he had brought with him today. The taxi arrived in less than five minutes. Then, she accompanied him to the car.  
  
“Goodbye, Itachi. See you later!”  
  
_When did we stop using the honorifics?_  
  
He was entering into the car when an impulse perturbed him. Was she going to be alright? Satomi couldn’t cry, she had to be happy. He had to make her happy. He still remembered the episode at the fair. Was she alright, now? He dreamt of her and her voice and her face. What had happened? Right now, He would protect her from anything. No one should ever harm her. What if that ―whatever it was― happened again? Itachi grabbed her arm.  
  
“Are you better now?”  
  
A concert of bells tinkled. She was giggling.   
  
It was a fake laugh.  
  
“Thank you for all,” She sang.  
  
It was a fake tone.   
  
Then she got closer and closer to him until their noses were almost touching. Itachi could feel her breathing softly caressing his skin. She kissed his cheek.  He stayed there for a minute, confused. His skin burning, the wind boiling, the leaves deafening, and his heart hitting his rib cage until his bones became dust.   
  
The kiss wasn't fake.   
  
The taxi’s klaxon waked him up. And he got in the car as fast as he could.   
  
He arrived home with a smile on his face and his fingers twinging. Now, the fuzzy feeling had been triplicated, and certain tension roamed his limbs.  Itachi was worried, even if she had felt better in the last part of the afternoon; he still knew she wasn’t fine. He got off the car and paid the exact sum to the taxi driver. Then, he passed the portal and entered into his house. He could smell the dinner.   
  
“Is it you, ‘tachi?” Mikoto asked him from the kitchen.   
  
Itachi entered into the dining room and saluted.  
  
“Do you need help, kaasan?”  
  
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I already finished.” No was always her answer. “Why don’t you check your little garden until I serve dinner?”  
  
Sasuke and Fugaku were arriving really late. That always happened in Uchiha Corp. there were really busy days. Days in with one couldn't even get a dinner. He skipped lots of meals when he worked there.   
  
Itachi watered his jasmines carefully. They produced a faint smell. Sweet and delicate. His mother had told him the flowers were beautiful and that he was a great gardener, but he couldn’t assure it.   
  
The atmosphere was getting colder. Itachi stayed there for a while, the air hitting his face. He didn’t know if feel happy or worried, both feelings seemed to fight in his loins, her tears still on his shirt, her kiss still on his cheek. Trembling. The cold air of autumn.  
  
His mind calculated a vast number of possibilities, where did she go? What is getting worse? Who is he? Was someone harming her? Maybe she just had a bad day in college, but she was too talented for that. Boyfriend problems. Shisui had never talked about a boyfriend. But she could like someone. The wind blew the leaves. If she loved someone, Itachi knew the man would love her back. He’s hurting her. Don’t stay with him Satomi. Don’t you dare to hurt her…   
  
It could also be stress; she might be doing a lot of things at the same time. She is overworking. Shivers. No.  The idea was a knife in the heart. She should never follow his steps. She was supposed to be happy.   
  
His mother was talking with someone. Shisui.  
  
“Are you having dinner with us tonight?”  
  
“Well, Mikoto-san, your food is delicious.”  
  
“How is everything at the police station?”  
  
Shisui should know something about it. He had been Satomi’s friend for a lot of time. If her problem was serious, his cousin knew it.  
   
“And where is Itachi?”  
  
He walked back into the house, passing the kitchen and finding the two talking in the living room.  
  
“Itachi-chan. How you doing?”  
  
“Shisui,” he greeted.   
  
The food was ready some minutes later. The three of them sat in the dining room and started eating. Shisui told another of his strange police anecdotes, stopping only to compliment Mikoto’s cuisine.  
  
After dinner, Itachi and Shisui went to his room. It was an old tradition; they used to have secret conversations in Itachi's room after eating.  At that moment, talks hadn’t gone too serious, but with time, it became the perfect minute to share important information or tell confidences.  
  
Itachi sat on the floor and Shisui threw himself to the bed. The mattress bounced and then there was silence.   
  
“Hey, Itachi. What were you thinking today?” So that was why. “Your mother think you are losing it.”  
  
“I just needed to be alone. I just went to the park. Weren’t you the one that said I didn’t go out enough?”  
  
“But-” His cousin seemed to ponder a little bit, the decided the answer was legit. Nothing to worry about, Itachi was perfectly fine. “Okay, cool. Sure you don’t want to talk about something? You seem… grim.”  
  
“I am okay. I’m happier than usual.”  
  
“Well, that’s good because there is this girl in the police station. A real beauty. And she kinda wants to know you. I can, you know, arrange a date. Hey, are you even listening to me!”  
  
Itachi was not immersed in their conversation. Shisui knew Satomi for a lot more time than him, if someone was wrong, he should know.    
  
“Satomi-san was in the park,” Itachi let his thoughts roll through his tongue, “she didn’t look really happy.”  
  
“Oh! Not that again…” Shisui muttered.  
  
In other circumstances, Itachi wouldn’t have listened what Shisui had said. But now he had a sharper ear. He heard.   
  
“Do you know something?”  
  
“Listen, I can’t just go around telling everybody these kinds of things.” Shisui exhaled, a minute of silence followed, “Was she too upset?”  
  
“Shisui. I need to know, what happened to her, she’s also my friend.”  
  
“I already told you I can’t tell.”  
  
“Does she know that you know? Is it too bad? How many times has it happened?”  
  
Shisui smiled. So he liked her that much. Itachi only seemed that desperate for answers when something was harming his younger brother.   
  
“There is a case. I read the file. She doesn’t like to talk about it, and you should, either.”  
  
His heart stopped moving and Itachi felt his blood freeze. The fish he had won swam in its bowl. A file? Was it that severe? Satomi suffering traversed his mind. He didn’t like her crying. She shouldn’t cry, ever. No one had the right to hurt her.  
  
“What happened?” Itachi’s voice was hard, he was angry, he needed to help her. “You read the file.”  
  
“Yes. But I can’t talk about it.”   
  
“Shisui.”  
  
“Why don’t you ask her then? Listen, that’s one of the things she doesn’t share with anybody. Don’t worry. And don’t tell her I know something. She doesn’t like talking about it.” Shisui spoke, ending the discussion. “Hey, do you know something new about Madara. He is outside the country isn’t he?”

* * *

I can’t ask her about it, she won’t tell me. But, anyway, I want to see it. The next afternoon, Itachi exited his house and went to _Konoha’s Conservatory_. Satomi had told him was she studied even on Saturday’s afternoon.  
  
When he entered, Itachi asked a group of women about Satomi.  
  
“Satomi Fumihiko. Yes, she is in the piano room. It’s at the end of the hallway.”  
  
One of the women’s offered to help him to get there, but he politely declined. Itachi had found in the conservatory without any help, he would go the piano room on his own. With his fingers touching one of the walls, Itachi started walking. When he was some steps away from the group he heard squeals and murmurs.  
  
“Isn’t he an Uchiha?”  
  
“Cute!”  
  
“Wow! Why would he need Satomi-chan?”   
  
“Is he blind?”  
  
In the beginning, Itachi found strange not hearing anything from the rooms he was passing, but then he realized they must all be sound-proof. He was nervous and the bag of sweets he had bought was becoming heavier with every step.   
  
Where the wall finished, his fingers touched a door. It’s here. Slowly, and carefully, he opened the door; he didn’t want to interrupt her, in case she was practicing.   
  
Chopin escaped from the piano and hit him. Somehow, Itachi knew she was the one playing: a sound so beautiful and desperate could only be hers. He almost saw her there, with her long hair moving while her blue eyes kept reading the music sheet and her fingers moved neatly through the keys.   
  
It was the sound of her cries.   
  
He closed the door, as slowly as he opened it, and just stayed there, listening to her. It was only when she finished playing and after some seconds of silence that she realized someone else was in the room.  
  
She looked over the piano and emitted a suffocated squeal.  
  
 “How did you get here?” She asked, still surprised.   
  
“I bought you something,” Itachi responded, agitating the bag with pastries.  
   
“Oh. Why?”  
  
He stayed silent, and a warm smile crept across his face. That told Satomi he wasn’t going to reveal his reasons, so she emitted a soft sigh and took his arm.  
  
“We can’t eat here, so let’s go outside.”  
  
She took him to the back of the building, a courtyard with some benches and a small fountain.  
  
“You can sit here.”  
  
She sat at his side.   
  
“So, what happened?” Satomi asked while taking something off the bag to eat.  
  
“Nothing, really.”  
  
Itachi also took a pastry from the bag.   
  
“It’s Saturday, and I thought you might need a break.”  
  
She giggled.  
  
“So you really have nothing better to do that come to eat with me.”  
  
He smiled.  
  
They talked about various topics. Well, I think Javert was right. No, Jean Valjean was the kindest man in the whole world. I don’t really like horror films. Sasuke is never home now. Shisui has so many bad jokes. Well, you had that of Dr. Fun, that was a lame pun. Chopin is awesome. Yes, it’s an Etude; I need that kind of things for competitions and practice. I don’t know when we are going to play next. Why does Deidara-san hate you? Yes, I love my mother’s food. I don’t actually know how to cook. Dango? I prefer winter.   
  
When they finished the pastries, there was silence.   
  
“Itachi, you know I care a lot about you, right?”      
  
Satomi said, and that was the moment he realized their noses were touching. A little more and he would kiss her. His skin burned and he was going to kiss her because he liked her. Because he might love her. Itachi cupped her cheek.  Cold wind, and the sound of dry leaves, and the sweet of the pastries on his mouth, and his nose tingling, and her breathing, and the splashing of the fountain. And he might love her. And he was going to kiss her.  
  
“Satomi-chan! We have a rehearsal, um!” Of surprise, she moved and hit his head.  
  
“What is that Uchiha doing here, um!”

* * *

The trembling started when he got home. When entering, Mikoto told him Madara was right now away from the country and that he wouldn’t come back for a while. A weight was lifted from Itachi’s shoulders. He still thought about that, Madara was always present in his mind.   
  
The feelings of the afternoon fluttered all around him, and after supper, he took a decision.  
  
The night was unusually warm for autumn; he had opened his window and rested his forearm on the windows sill. Itachi felt that if he concentrated hard enough, he would see the sky, but as always, having eyes opened or closed was the same. His mind created a dark sky, with some clouds painted in white and gray, a few stars, Sirius shining along with a big, full moon; air moved the leaves that were still holding onto the trees, pale rays of light made his room visible.    
  
But it was impossible.   
  
As he inhaled the cold air, Itachi realized he was still listening to Chopin. Crescendos and desperation and beauty and passion and the sound she made when sighing and the feeling she had left is his throat, air trapped inside his lungs. He was still listening to her. He might always listen to her.   
  
Itachi took his phone and called her. The fish swimming. Jasmines spreading their scent. A tragic piano in the background. It wasn’t difficult thinking about what to tell her. He already knew. Itachi had known for a long time.  
  
“Are you free tomorrow?”  
  
“Yes. Why?”  
  
“Would you like to go out with me.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll tell Shisui.”  
  
“No. Just the two of us.”  
  
Heart beating.  
  
“Itachi. What-”  
  
Half pronounced sentences.  
  
“A date?”  
  
High-pitched voice.  
  
“I-”   
  
Doubt.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Silence and then, a delicate and bittersweet piano. 


	10. Chapter 10

Itachi searched for the etiquette on the cloth; with his fingers, he followed the pattern his mother had sewed. _Black_.  He pictured the garment: a long sleeved shirt, made with a black silky fabric. He had only used it once, in Sasuke’s graduation.  This was a good moment to use it again.  He dug his wardrobe for the right pants and jacket, which he had also worn that day.  
  
He had already planned the whole evening: a fancy restaurant and a walk around the old commercial street of Konoha. A traditional date. He was elated. However, it was too early: three in the afternoon. He shouldn’t get ready now, as they would meet at seven.   
  
Four hours of idle. Itachi put on his headphones. His cell phone was on shuffle.  Debussy,  _La fille aux Cheveux de lin._  
  
The initial days after the accident, when  he finished that day's therapy, he listened to music when he got home ―his brother served as a cane and his mother chanted condescending sentences in his direction with a broken voice―. Alone in his room, surrounded by darkness, the most tragic pieces he could find resonated through his head. Wagner and lots of Chopin and Beethoven and even those silly breakup songs.  The portrait was dreary: a hole in his lungs and breathing becoming more difficult with  every new note, a plate full of food left on his night table, he had said to Mikoto, ‘I’ll eat dinner in my room’, it always stayed intact all night.  
  
Now, this song, The girl with the flaxen hair, was more cheerful. Itachi had always admired how Debussy’s songs could be merry, yet nostalgic. He imagined a girl with golden hair playing the piano, her blue dress making little hops alongside her foot every time she pressed the pedal; a woman sat by her side, signaling a particular note on the staff with her index.  
  
He had improved, now life was easier. But, it didn’t matter how much his recent infatuation asked him to, he couldn’t assume Satomi was the only reason. Yes, she had helped, but friends, family, and time had also been there. He was getting more and more used to this blindness.  
  
Itachi stayed mesmerized under Debussy until five. He took a shower and prepared himself.  
  
Butterflies were slowly forming on his abdomen. 5:30. He had to leave his house at six, the Uchiha residence was at least 45 minutes away from the meeting point. He opened his window, although the afternoon was cold, it wasn’t raining. He searched for a scarf, a jacket, and an umbrella.  The clothes he had chosen felt heavy, made of iron; and his hand was already suffering from electric spasms.  5:45.  
  
The young man went downstairs and searched his mom in the kitchen. As much as he liked the privacy and maintaining his actions to himself, he didn’t want to worry his loved ones. Not now.   
  
“Kaasan.”  
  
“Itachi dear, is everything okay?” She asked while roaming around the kitchen. Itachi heard the sound of pots and pans clashing against each other.  
  
“Yes. I’m going out.”  
  
“I’m glad, are Satomi-chan and Shisui coming?”  
  
“Just Satomi-chan.”  
  
Then all the sounds stopped. Mikoto turned around and faced her son, she felt happy, really happy and a delightful laugh left her throat.  
  
“Look at you, so handsome. Satomi-chan is such a lucky girl. Oh, ‘tachi! I’m so happy.”  
  
Tears of joy left her eyes as she ran to hug her son. He was smiling.  
  
“Kaasan?”  
  
Itachi was usually a man of few words. And she wanted to ask him everything, but he looked so embarrassed. It made sense, his boy hadn’t thought of love until now. No one wanted their mother to ask questions about their love life.  
  
“I hope you have lots of fun, sweetie,” she beamed. “And don’t worry, you look very charming today.”  
  
6:50  
  
The taxi left him at the entrance of the park, they had arranged to meet there. His mouth felt dry and his right knee -only the right knee- was quivering. Itachi was nervous, really nervous; and the sound of steps on the wet ground, the smell of fresh earth, the noise of cars growling on the street and the cold wind weren’t calming him. This was his first date. Well, his first consensual date, at least. He had asked her out, he was the one that could get rejected.  If Satomi had said ‘yes’ just out of pity, their friendship would be lost. Maybe he should have brought flowers, he could buy them now. No, then he would be late.   
  
Itachi sighed, then, searched for a bench. She should be here soon.  
  
Some minutes passed before Satomi sat at his side.  
  
“Itachi.”  
  
“Satomi-chan.”  
  
The air became thick. Pure weight fell over him. There was an awkward silence. Some steps and the sound of cars passing by. She sighed.  
  
Some seconds later, he felt her tugging his jacket.  
  
“Let’s go, we are going to eat somewhere, aren’t we? ”  
  
He bent his cane and let her ask for another taxi. She didn’t drive, nor did he, and even if the restaurant wasn’t too far away, the only way of getting there, was using the commercial passage, which he wanted to show her later.  
  
“So, where are we going to eat?”  
  
“Italian. A restaurant near _Ichiraku’s_ ”  
  
The taxi ride was completely silent. Satomi didn’t utter a word, nor did he. There were two possible reasons: none of them was too talkative; or this was their first date, for Satomi, the idea of a date had appeared out of nothing, maybe she didn't want to go out with him.   
  
His train of thought was interrupted when he heard a Satomi’s voice.  
  
“I like your scarf.”  
  
The scarf wasn’t anything unusual. It was the first garment of clothing he had bought after the accident, he had liked the texture: woven, made of wool.  Later, his mother had described the garment to him, it was black and white and the colors formed a tartan pattern.  
  
"Thank you.”  
  
The taxi had arrived at their destination. Satomi climbed off the car and helped him to get off. The restaurant was in front of them.  
  
“Isn’t this a little too fancy?”  
  
Itachi could picture the place: built in what seemed Italian tradition ―it wasn’t, but the construction had the most known aspects of an Italian house―, the three-floor building was narrow. Its façade was created by white and arched windows, yellow Golden Trumpet vines and baby blue walls. On the third floor, there was a balcony, adorned with more yellow flowers.  
  
“Don’t worry, let’s get inside”  
  
Satomi guided him to the inside of the building. There, they were led to their table, which he had asked to be on the balcony. The waitress brought them the menus.  
  
“What are you going to ask?”  
  
“Not sure yet,” Itachi answered. “Do you already know?”  
  
“Something with pasta.”  
  
“That means the entire menu.”  
  
“There are a lot more things, you know. Like that tomato soup.”

* * *

“I studied at home.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“What more do you want me to tell you?” She asked with a giggle, “I loved playing the piano and my uncle spoiled me. I studied at home so I could practice more. I guess he thought I was a genius, he obviously was wrong at that.”  
  
Itachi sipped his wine and took the last spoonful of food; his mouth was invaded with a mixture of savors.  The evening was going very well; after the awkward beginning, they had come back to their usual atmosphere. Satomi loved the food and admired the place. ‘Still too fancy, you should have told me’, she had said. He liked listening to her voice and to all her conversation topics. The light of the candle was warm and the contrast between the cold weather and its heat was excellent.  
  
“How did you find this place, anyway?”  
  
“ _Akatsuki_.”  
  
“Wow, that thing actually sounds awesome. Deidara-san actually likes being there. What more did you do there?”  
  
“I actually had to learn other languages; it was a requirement of the company.”  
  
“That’s awesome! You’re awesome.”  
  
“Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?”  
  
“No, almost no one in all the Fire Country speaks more than one language.”  
  
“I never got a chance to use it.”  
  
“You are still awesome.”  
  
Flustered and ready to protest, Itachi heard a different voice.  
  
“Excuse me, are you ready to ask for the dessert.”  
  
“Yes, please,” he said.  
  
“It will be ready in some minutes,” the waitress affirmed, leaving the table.  
  
Itachi was going to re-start their conversation when he felt something warm touching his hand.  
  
“I just wanted to thank you”, she told him with the high pitched voice she used when she felt vulnerable, “I’m having fun.”  
  
Itachi smiled, concentrating on how nice the light pressure of her hand felt. Don’t lift your hand, and I’m also having fun, and I like you.  
  
“It was my pleasure.”  
  
For his content, Satomi didn’t lift her hand until the waitress came back with the dessert. It was tiramisu, or so exclaimed his companion after the first bite.  
  
They didn’t talk much after her little confession; both too busy eating the cold dessert. Itachi savored the coffee, the cheese, and the sugar while trying to stop the butterflies from eating his insides. What she had said sounded like a confession, did she like him back?  
  
“That was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. We have to come here again.”  
  
Itachi chuckled.  
  
“Another day...”  
  
“That day you’ll have to let me pay.”  
  
“The dinner was already paid; there wasn’t anything I could do.”  
  
He smiled and stood up. Satomi took his arm and, together they walked outside the restaurant. Even with all their garments on, wind made their noses tingle.  
  
“So, what now?”  
  
“Let’s take a walk,” he answered her, signaling to the narrow street in his right.  
  
Konoha’s old commercial district was a long street between the park of the city and the zone of restaurants. It wasn’t like a mall, as the shops were small and most of the people sold their products in stands, which usually were adorned with colorful clothes. During winter and autumn, the city put a plastic dome over the passage. It was like the fair, but opened all year. Itachi wanted his date to walk around the place, see the different handmade items and maybe bought her a thing or two.  
  
“Wow, this is very colorful.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Let’s go, then.”  
  
Satomi grabbed his hand and started walking; she looked inside every stand,  describing every single one to him. This has jewelry; they have these necklaces with heart-shaped charms. Do you want something? No, let’s see the next one.  
  
“This one sells stuffed animals, I still have that one from the fair, remember?”  
  
“Yes,” he hummed “It’s next to the piano.”  
  
“You are right. What about your fish.” She asked.  
  
The fish was okay, he hadn’t come out with a name yet, silly him. Nevertheless, he loved the little animal; he could hear the water moving around and the pet making bubbles. Do you want another of those? No, let's continue.  
  
“I haven’t named it.”  
  
“Why? Let me name it for you. Call him Re.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“In this one, they have artisanal soap. Let’s get closer.”  
  
“Do you want one?”  
  
“Stop trying to buy me things and just smell it,” she giggled, whilst putting one of the bars in his hand and kissing his cheek. He just hummed, relinquishing the warmth on his cheek.  
  
It smelled like honey and coconut.  
  
“Nice, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes?” Why was she so interested in soaps when she just had walked by the jewelry stand?  
  
“I love it because you can also enjoy it.”  
  
Itachi heart fluttered. Don’t be so concerned about me.  
  
Finally, they bought soaps. Well, actually, Satomi bought him some and bought some for her; her criteria: the ones he had liked the most. Itachi protested, but she wanted to make it up because the dinner, and finally he had complied ―he was somewhat glad later when he received another kiss on the cheek―. Now, tired of buying things, they headed to the park.  
  
As the street became less crowded, silence became more prominent. But this time, it was okay.  Itachi liked silence. And he felt warm, even after she declined any class of gift. The money was unsubstantial, he had earned it working in two of the most successful companies in Konoha, but he understood Satomi didn’t want to accept more expensive things.  
  
This, the whole date, had turned out good. Satomi was holding his arm and humming a song he didn’t know.  Itachi liked the way she held his arm.  She had done it multiple times, but now it felt different. Maybe it was because she was leaning closer to him, or because this time she let him take the lead, only moving him a little when she saw someone walking too close to them.  
  
Anyway, his heart was beating too fast and more than once a happy sigh escaped through his lips, even when he had tried so hard on keeping the air knitted to his lungs. Satomi was warm against his arm, and the wind didn’t seem as crisp as before. The scent of half-wet earth surrounded them and everything was incredibly charming, and he still had the sweet flavor of the dessert on his tongue and Satomi leaned even closer.  
  
“Remember that day, months ago when Shisui said you were sad. I-” He wanted her to stop; don’t ask, do not worry about me. “Are you happier now?”  The question was rushed, after the usual pause and rephrasing she used when nervous.  
  
She asked that every time they were together…  
  
“Don’t worry about that, Satomi-chan.”  
  
“You know, you don’t have to use the honorific if you don’t want to,” she pouted.  
  
Itachi laughed.   
  
“I like how it sounds…”  
  
After that, there was silence. Maybe she was embarrassed. He chuckled at the thought. Itachi had smiled the entire evening.  
  
The most audible sound was the noise of their shoes stepping on the grass and the beating of his heart; in the background, one could hear people talking and the motors of various cars. It was time to finish the date, but he was happy there, roaming around the park with her.   
  
Finally, he stopped the walk.  
  
“I think it’s time to go home.”  
  
“Oh, really?” She checked the hour on her cell phone. “You are right, It’s  late. I didn’t realize.”  
  
Was that nostalgic? He didn’t want to leave, either. Itachi liked spending time with her.  
  
“Oh, well. Goodbye.”  
  
“Goodbye, Satomi-chan.”  
  
But none of them moved.  
  
“I’m sure we are supposed to start walking to our houses…”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Satomi gave two steps, but, then faced him.  
  
“Itachi, you have an eyelash on your cheek.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“On the left.”  
  
“More, on the left”  
  
“You got it. Wait, no. You lost it.”  
  
“Why don’t you take it off?”  
  
That had sounded flirtatious. That wasn’t the intention, was it?  
  
“I-”  
  
Her index finger barely touched his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned closer to her.  
  
“Done.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
A warm zephyr caressed his face, autumn wind was so cold. She was getting closer and closer, the eyelash was gone, he got closer to her. Then, she pressed her lips against his. That was all, just a small peck on the lips.   
  
She took a step back. He could hear her breaths. Two steps back. She had actually kissed him. He didn’t think she would-  
  
“Sorry, It was a bad idea. I know it was too rushed I just-” Her tiny voice, her voice getting higher and thinner, her nervous voice.   
  
He smiled. She made him smile a lot. It was his first kiss. Yes, he had never shown interest in romance until now; his high school days and his college days had been very busy. Two steps forward. Now she was quiet, too flustered to talk.  
  
Itachi searched for her face and secured his hands on her cheeks. He didn’t want mistakes now, no bumping, no hitting.  
  
Then, he kissed her.  
  
It had been awkward, their lips didn’t actually fit and had they smiled several times during the kiss. It wasn’t what was usually called ‘passionate’ or ‘breathtaking’.  However, his heart was breaking his ribcage, and he couldn’t breathe.  
  
When the kiss ended, Satomi hugged him and rested her head on his chest ― she wasn’t tall ―, he hugged her back and they stayed like that for a while.  He waited until his heart beats were back to normal and air had returned to his lungs. Then, Itachi took a step back.  
  
 “Are you cold?” He said, trying to bring some kind of conversation back.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then why are you shaking.”  
  
“I-” She hesitated for a moment. “Okay, I’m cold”  
  
Itachi smiled, taking off the scarf of his neck.  
  
He wished she had lied, maybe she wasn’t cold, maybe the kiss had shaken her as much as it shook him. But he wanted to give the scarf to her― there weren’t clear reasons he just had the impulse―, and she wasn’t complaining.  
  
“Here, use it.”  
  
As good as he could, and trying not to hurt her in the process, Itachi warped the scarf around Satomi’s neck. The result wasn’t perfect, as she fixed some details after he had finished.  
  
“Let’s go home now, it’s getting late.”


	11. Chapter 11

After waking up, Itachi couldn't stay more time in bed. He usually did:  ten or twenty minutes of dozing off. Laying on his bed, half asleep; he could feel his heart beating ―slowly, calmly ―; his lungs inhaling and exhaling; and the soothing caress of the blanket that covered his body; some birds singing; the chilly wind of October and his little pet exhaling bubbles.  However, today he had that feeling in his loins. Itachi recognized it from before: he had felt it the day he had escaped to the park, trying to forget about the butterflies in his stomach; and also yesterday, when his belly started to disintegrate at the sound of Satomi’s voice.  
  
Right now, the blanket burned, his body trembled under electric jolts, his nose was too cold, his stomach was too tingly, and he had a smile glued to his face. There was no chance of falling asleep again. Anxiety? Maybe, but it didn’t feel inherently bad. This was because yesterday’s date. Satomi had kissed him. And he had kissed her back.  
  
Itachi got up. He could hear the hustle downstairs. Mikoto was in the kitchen.  
  
Nevertheless, before eating breakfast, he had an important task to complete.  Itachi searched for a little jar next to the fish bowl and took some granules in his fingers.  
  
“Good morning, Re.” He greeted, using for the first time the name Satomi had suggested.  
  
He knew what it meant; something simple, nothing deep: Re is the way most countries call the musical note D. Satomi had proposed it without thinking a lot, she could also have decided for Do, Mi or Sol.   
  
After feeding his little pet, Itachi prepared himself and walked downstairs. His destiny: the kitchen.  
  
“Good morning, kaasan.”  
  
The sound of dishes and spoons and pans and pots clashing.  
  
“You are earlier than usual. Go to the dining room, I’ll bring your breakfast in a second.”  
  
He entered the dining room with a slow pace. Right now, he could move around the entire house without tripping over anything. The only exception occurred when someone moved a piece of furniture, as he didn't use his cane inside. The house was cold, autumn was coming to an end, and temperatures were lowering. Almost six months had passed since the accident. Half year trying to find a new path.  
  
Those months have passed too quickly. Yes, even the first weeks he thought eternal were gone. In the beginning, he had been desperate: all was black, pitch black and his body was deformed, his chest seemed to be enlarging itself and his members trying to fall apart. But in the second week, he had started getting used to the darkness. Then, he was able to stand up again and, even against Tsunade protests, he had started therapy. Nothing more was going to be discovered, as the only damage his brain had received was in the occipital lobe. That meant his eyes worked, but his mind couldn’t process it; Itachi couldn’t understand what he was seeing.  
  
Therapy taught him the basics. Itachi had to learn a new way to understand space. Using his other senses ― touch, hearing and smell―, for example. They instructed him in the correct use of the cane and in the basics of braille. After three weeks in the hospital, Itachi was finally back at home. For two months, he had attended to his daily revisions and to both physical and psychological therapy.  
  
After that, he had continued sharpening his new survival skills at home. And now, there was Satomi.  
  
“Itachi.”  
  
Said man heard a voice he didn’t think would manifest so soon. His father was home.  
  
It was a surprise he hadn’t noticed the clash of cutlery before. He was spacing off, more than usual.  
  
“Nii-san” His little brother was also there.   
  
They were finally spending some time at home; it meant things at the company were a lot easier right now. Before the accident, the Uchiha had made a deal with Amegakure and Sunagakure and were planning an alliance with Kumogakure. Making arrangements with the strongest villages was the logical step to take after almost monopolizing the Land of fire. But this kind of association was difficult to maintain and demanded lots of effort from both parts.  
  
“Otousan, Sasuke. How are you?” Itachi greeted, whilst sitting in his assigned spot.  
  
There was no immediate reply. His father was probably trying to finish an article in the newspaper before engaging in conversation, and Sasuke might have his mouth full. His brother must have been chewing quickly a spoonful of his breakfast, so he could answer after swallowing.  
  
“Work has finally diminished. We made that deal with Kumokagure,” Fugaku finally answered.  
  
“I’m glad,” Mikoto intervened from the kitchen. “Maybe now I’ll see more my youngest son.”  
  
“Madara wants to increase the production,” Sasuke informed, playing with his cutlery. “We’ll be back to work tomorrow.”  
  
“We are not here to talk about work,” Fugaku intervened before an angry Mikoto had the chance to scorn her youngest son.   
  
“How has everything been going, Itachi?”  
  
A little smile escaped his mouth. He liked someone. Itachi lifted his head and turned his face to where his father always seated, a natural gesture that had little to none practical application now.  
  
“Everything’s alright,” he answered, but his father required a longer answer. “I’ve tried to help kaasan in the house, but she never lets me. I have an appointment with Yamanaka-san later today. Tsunade-sama still finds everything fine. I’ve had no headaches.”  
  
Sasuke was sitting at his side. The dining table was so big that the whole family accommodated on one corner.  
  
“Nii-san, do you want to do something later?”  
  
Itachi nodded with a smile on his face.  
  
“Itachi is going out more.” Mikoto's voice became more audible as she entered the room with the food for her oldest son. “My older boy is becoming a very required man.”  
  
Itachi wasn’t sure what she meant by that, and he wasn’t the only one confused. His little brother commented a ‘he doesn’t have much to do’ that Itachi wasn’t supposed to hear. But his ear was sharper now. A pang of distress. His brother was right, he wasn’t busy now, but the idea of little Sasuke signaling that, brought back the dark thoughts his infatuation had helped him to hide. Sasuke had stopped looking up to him. It made sense. Almost no one could say he was a genius right now. He sighed.  
  
The memory of Satomi asking, again and again, the same question came into his mind.  Are you happier now?  He couldn’t mourn. Itachi swallowed his big brothers pride and tried to concentrate on something else. Like his mother, that cried when she believed he was happy.  
  
Mikoto placed in front of him a plate with whatever his breakfast was, and a cup in which she served some kind of tea. Itachi smelled the beverage; vapor touched lightly his face. Green tea. He waited for his mother’s information, though. Mikoto had acquired the habit of telling him what he was going to eat.   
  
Now, he couldn’t go back to the sad, dark past. Stay joyful, stay infatuated.  
  
“Egg’s with cabbage and green tea, sweetheart,” she told him while kissing his cheek. He answered with a ‘thank you’ and took his fork.   
  
His mother started walking back to the kitchen. And yet, everyone at the table heard what she said next.   
  
“You’ll have to tell later me how your date with Satomi-chan went.”  
  
Then, he had to forget about the little incident with Sasuke, because a hurricane was already coming his way.  
  
“He has a girlfriend?” Sasuke intervened.  
  
“Who is Satomi?” His father asked.  
  
His mother left the room, evading all responsibility. He was there with not so much explaining to do, it was easy: he liked her; he had asked her on a date.  
  
Itachi just told them three things about Satomi’s life: her name, what she studied and that she was Shisui’s friend. His father let him be and left the dining room with an accepting grunt. Sasuke, on the other hand, seemed agitated and left the place in a hurry.

* * *

“Nii-san.”  
  
Itachi wondered what Sasuke needed. After the breakfast, he was sure his younger brother was enraged with him, and that whatever he had planned for them to do together was completely forgotten. He closed the book he was about to finish.  
  
“Yes?” he responded, smiling at his little brother.  
  
What Sasuke had said in the morning was being ignored.  
  
“Let’s go for a walk.”  
  
Itachi smiled again. For a second, the maybe-next-time antics crossed his mind, but he loved spending time with his brother, and now he had the time. He stood up and, together they walked towards the principal door.  
  
The oldest brother couldn’t but notice certain reticence and tension in Sasuke’s gestures. Angry.  He guessed Sasuke felt a little betrayed, as Itachi had never mentioned a girl to him. They weren’t hanging out as much as they would have liked, and Sasuke possibly thought Itachi was abandoning him ―not that his little brother would admit something like that ―.  
  
An icy breeze hit Itachi in the face when Sasuke opened the front door. Itachi positioned his hand on his brother’s shoulder, so his outoto would guide him on their walk. Itachi didn’t want to use the cane today, and this way he could be closer to Sasuke. The younger Uchiha stiffened but didn’t pronounce a word.    
  
When they left the house behind, his foolish brother spoke.  
  
“You never said anything about her.”  
  
He knew his companion wanted to talk about Satomi, but in addition to that topic, Itachi needed to untie the knot on his throat. He didn’t want his little brother to get exhausted; Sasuke shouldn’t overwork himself.    
  
“I’ve never had the chance to tell you,” Itachi replied in an amiable voice.  
  
“That’s not true!” Sasuke snapped, “You had a chance! When you met her or when you started liking her or anything!”  
  
“No one knew anything. And we’ve only had one date. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend.”  
  
Their steps were short, the walk too slow.   
  
“But you want to.”  
  
Sasuke was pouting. Itachi pictured him in his mind, Sasuke always did that around him. A Smile. Yes, he wanted Satomi to be his girlfriend, but he wasn’t sure what step to take after yesterday. You date, and what’s next?  
  
That didn’t mean he was going to forget about Sasuke. He loved his little brother more than he loved himself and no one would ever change that.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“You are going to leave me behind.”  
  
“You’ll always be my little brother.”  
  
Sasuke murmured a niisan. It sounded more like pity than admiration, but Itachi brushed it off.  
  
Someone walked by their side, Itachi could hear a pop song blasting off a set earphones.  
  
“Satomi-chan is a nice person, you’ll like her,” he said, finishing the first issue of the conversation. Now up to his brother’s work.  
  
Itachi waited some minutes before approaching the topic. There was time, as they had only begun walking back to the house. When he finally did, the words came out blunt.  
  
“Don’t work so much.”  
  
He waited for his little brother’s protest. Something along the lines of ‘I have to!’ or ‘Before, you also worked a lot’.  
  
And it was what came after.  
  
“ _Uchiha Corp_. Is getting bigger and bigger. It needs all the possible help.”  
  
“I understand, but you need to rest, have a hobby, go out with your friends.”  
  
“I like working.”  
  
Itachi was sure there was a certain part of Sasuke’s motivation he wasn’t mentioning.  
  
“Sasuke, you aren’t sleeping.” Itachi didn’t sleep when he worked, either. “Take care of yourself.”  
  
There was silence. An uncomfortable one. Itachi had always hated confrontations and this talk was evolving into that. He wished he could go back to the smile and the tickling on his belly of that morning, but his stomach was heavy, his face trying to hide discomfort. Sasuke seemed angry.  
  
“You just said that now!”  
  
Itachi decided to stay quiet, this was the first time Sasuke raised his voice around him.  
  
“Before the accident, you never were home!”  
  
No, he wasn’t.  
  
“If it wasn’t for your impediment, you’ll have never met that girl! You don’t understand.”  
  
Yes, he had met her after the car crash.   
  
Impediment.  
  
“Not everybody can be useless all day.”  
  
Useless.  
  
He had already separated himself from Sasuke, his hand in the coat’s pocket.  
  
“You already lost your life, let me live mine, Itachi.”  
  
And the back of his head hurt and Itachi wished he had brought his cane. The last headache was from months ago. Itachi was trying so hard to fool himself ―where was he? Without help he couldn’t come back home―, that he had forgotten how he left everything behind, the whole Uchiha clan was thinking what Sasuke had said. He was sure. The head. But he had to stay calm, he was perfectly fine. No, Sasuke don’t worry, your niisan is not angry, yes, you can come with me to the appointment, let me put my hand on your shoulder. His skull was separating from his neck. Nausea.


	12. Chapter 12

“You didn’t have to bring me. You’ve wasted your free day taking me here.”  
  
They were in the waiting room. It was already afternoon, Itachi wasn’t sure what hour, and he didn’t have the will to find out looking at his cell phone.  
  
Sasuke stayed silent.  He had insisted on accompanying Itachi, even after his brother’s protests. Itachi knew he was sorry. Sasuke apologized when they had arrived home. It wasn’t usual for him, but Sasuke felt really bad about the whole incident.   
  
After the first word, Itachi had forgiven him. He wasn't angry with him, he couldn’t be angry with his little brother.  
  
Right now, Itachi was trying to contain the turmoil of emotions. Sasuke wasn’t to blame -his little brother never was-, but he had blurted some truths Itachi thought were banished to the remotest place of his mind. Madara was somewhere near, and Itachi was an utter failure, his only responsibility right now was himself, and not even completely as people always insisted on helping him. His days were idle, his afternoons were idle.  No.  Those ideas were defeatist and negative, those thoughts would sink him. And he was going to expel them from his mind, for his mother, and for Satomi-chan.  
  
He had progressed a lot, life was easier now than four months ago. He could roam the city without help, he usually had an idea of what was happening around―even if  now he had that feeling of disorientation―, he knew Braille.  
  
Then, he was called.  His brother wanted to go with him, but psychotherapy was  more intimate than his usual appointments.  
  
“It’s alright, Sasuke, I’ll go alone. You can’t enter, anyway.”  
  
Itachi unfolded his cane and walked towards the office. The door was open and, fast enough, he was starting his ‘therapy’.  
  
He wasn’t someone easy to read, as Inoichi was starting to understand. Even after various appointments, the progress he had made with Itachi was minimum.  All the answers seemed perfectly calculated, some were even cryptic. Psychotherapy wasn’t supposed to be like this, not at all. His patient was very reserved, sometimes to dangerous levels. However, he had to continue trying.  
  
Inoichi was really surprised when Tsunade contacted him; usually, patients that had lost some capacity were immediately remitted to psychological help, but Itachi  managed to escape from that after the first unsuccessful month of psychology after his accident.  
  
“It’s been a long time,” Inoichi commented, after filling all the required gaps on his check-up.  
  
Yamanaka was talking about the accident. The sixth month after the car crash was about to start.  
  
“Five months,” Itachi answered. He was thinking about that in the morning.  
  
“You’ve progressed a lot in little time.”  
  
“I’ve tried.”  
  
It was true, Itachi didn’t have many things to do, all his efforts were put on his own improvement. Counting steps, following walls, using the white cane; everything seemed so natural now.   
  
But then there was all that he had left behind.  
  
Itachi’s façade was up. He never let it down. Few people had the opportunity to understand whatever he was feeling. The chair felt uncomfortable.  
  
He wasn’t cooperating. Itachi was an Uchiha, after all. Their decisions were usually permeated with a stiff sense of dignity. This pride was based on a rigorous self-image Itachi wanted to maintain. He didn’t like to feel weak, and talking about whatever troubled him was acknowledging his fragility.  
  
Inoichi had said it before, he had to cooperate. Talk, tell him how he was feeling. But Itachi wasn’t going to talk. Itachi wished he could just fill a quota of appointments and leave all in the past. Nevertheless, the psychiatrist would not let him go until God knew when.  
  
“Have you?”  
  
Ah! The disinterested question and the sound of a pen scratching a notebook. Itachi moved a little in his seat and decided to talk, maybe lie. That way the number of consults might be reduced. He didn’t want to continue coming there.  
  
Inoichi was sitting next to him, desperately trying to reduce the distance.  
  
Itachi took some air and started what felt like an overly-long speech.  
  
“The first month was very difficult. I wounded myself a lot trying to walk around my hospital room. I learned to move around the small place. But once I got home, I had to relearn everything. There were more furniture, more edgy objects and the torture of the stairs.” Itachi showed his psychotherapist a sad smile, a controlled and planned sad smile. “But, as there was nothing left for me to do, I concentrated on improving my spatial intelligence, as it was unbalanced. After that, I improved my braille and started to read. I admit at the beginning I felt empty, I had lost something important. But now, I’ve accepted it. I’m happy now, Inoichi-san.”  
  
He had kept the nuisances of his emotional state away from most part of his speech, he had only mentioned that lie —at least, it was a lie right now— at the end.  
  
“I see…” Inoichi wrote more notes. “So, right now you feel happy?”  
  
That question meant Yamanaka wasn’t convinced.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are you sure, Itachi. Because it feels like you are just repressing it all..."  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
Inoichi sighed.  
  
“It’s time to finish today’s appointment. I’ll see you next week.”  
  
Itachi stood up. Next week? His plan had failed, then. ‘Every week' was usual.  
  
“Have a good afternoon, Inoichi-san.” He bided his farewell.  
  
But he was stopped before leaving.  
  
“Itachi, I’d like you to make a list of the things that make you happy. I guess it’ll be easy for you.”  
  
“Understood. Goodbye.”  
  
His head was aching.  
  
“Goodbye.”

* * *

His brother put the keys on the table and rushed to his room. Itachi understood, the ride back home had been uncomfortable and awkward for both of them. Sasuke was feeling guilty for his outburst in the morning, but Itachi wasn’t angry at him ―he repeated this truth again and again in his head: he couldn’t be mad with his outoto―, he was upset with his own self. All his life, he had been pressured to be perfect and, it didn’t matter how many positive and reaffirming sentences he repeated; now that he had failed to accomplish all those hopes people had placed on him, Itachi felt useless. Days before he thought he had overcome the feeling, but it was coming back.   
  
Failure.   
  
“Itachi, how did the therapy go?”  
  
His mother startled him. Today he had been out of touch with reality. First, it was because Satomi and their recent date, then the argument with Sasuke.  
  
“Is Sasuke okay? He went upstairs so soon…” Mikoto said, but discarded any problem soon, as her youngest son was usually moody. She explained Sasuke’s mood, like she was trying to excuse his behavior to herself and turned back to Itachi once more,  “Come, come we have a lot of things to talk about.”  
  
Yes, he hadn’t informed his mother about yesterday’s date. Itachi moved expertly across the living room, searching for an empty seat. He sat in an armchair and waited for his mom to talk again. There was someone else in the room, he heard a heavy exhalation.  
  
“Itachi you bastard, why you didn’t tell me?”  
  
Shisui. Shouting didn’t seem the most logic of options, but his cousin had all the right to do it. Usually, he would have been the first to know.  
  
“Watch your language, young man.”  
  
Itachi was sure Shisui had won a smack on his head.  
  
Shisui muttered a low _sorry_.  
  
“So ‘tachi tell us how was it?”  
  
He shifted in his seat, embarrassed about the topic. However, Shisui interrupted him.  
  
 “Are you really dating her?” His words were fast, piling up in a vague, scream-like question.  
  
“We just went out once.”  
  
Some insects appeared in his stomach at the remembrance. But, his heart still had that emptiness he had earned today.  
  
“So? How did it go?” His mother insisted.  
  
Itachi didn’t really want to extend himself. It was intimate, personal. He didn’t want Shisui and less, his mother to know all the memories from the night before. So he said the vaguest, yet impressing fact about his date.  
  
“We bought soaps.”  
  
Artisanal soaps and they smelled wonderful. She said it was so he could also enjoy whatever they were buying. The thought she deserved someone better crossed his mind like a flash.  
  
“Well, that explains why you smell different.”  
  
Itachi chuckled at the comment. It wasn’t a real chuckle; it was one of those used to imply the other’s idea was too silly to be taken seriously.  
  
“I haven’t used them yet.”  
  
His mother asked more questions, and he answered as distant and politely as he could. The insects in his stomach surely weren’t butterflies, as they were eating his insides. The sentiment wasn’t pleasant.  
  
Time flew.  
  
More questions, Shisui said he had noticed ―he hadn’t― that there was something. His mother wanted to meet Satomi. They planned a wedding and listed the names of the possible children and Shisui is always welcomed in the kitchen of Satomi’s and Itachi’s hypothetical house. Itachi had protested at his family enthusiasm, they had only gone out once. And a kiss might mean something or be completely irrelevant. A voice in the back of his mind said that happiness wasn’t for him, he hadn’t won it.   
  
“Itachi darling, are you okay?”  
  
His answer was too slow.  
  
“I’m alright.”  
  
Although the headache was gone, he was fatigued. With a sigh every now and then, Itachi tried to keep up with his family’s chatting. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to hear them, he wanted to sleep and rest and think about something else that wasn’t his uselessness.

* * *

He felt tired and even yet, after two hours lying in his bed, Morpheus hadn’t come. The mattress was too hard, the wind howled too loud, the jasmines' odor was too strong and he kept thinking about what Sasuke had said. The back of his head hurt.  
  
Itachi was getting obsessed, he shouldn’t. The last three months had consisted of him finding different ways in which his life was important, but here he was, thinking again about the utter failure he had become. This wasn’t Sasuke’s fault; he was just in the same ideal of utility and honor that the rest of his family held. He wished nothing had happened and he was still working for them. That way, maybe his little brother wouldn’t think of him as a burden. Yamanaka had a point, what if he never had been happy? What was he doing?  
  
He sat on the bed, falling asleep right now wasn’t a possibility. Itachi asked the hour to his cell phone, a monotonous voice responded. 10:30. A distraction of Sasuke and Yamanaka was what he needed right now. So he called the only person he wanted to hear right now.  
  
Three beeps sounded before she picked up the phone.  
  
 “Hi, Itachi how-” She stopped for a second in the middle of her speech, as she usually did when nervous. “How are you?”  
  
“Hello,” he greeted, his voice completely neutral. “Good.”  
  
Funny it was, just one of her words was enough to bring his peace of mind back.  
  
“I didn’t think you were going to call. I-” The reluctance appeared again on her verbal expressions.  Itachi smiled, she was nervous because of him.  “Do you need something?”  
  
“I just wanted to talk with you.”  
  
She stayed quiet for a while. She was blushing. He had never seen her blush, but he liked the idea: her cheeks red and a soft squeal, then she would cover her mouth, embarrassed. A strand of hair would fall gracefully over one of her eyes.  
  
“I like talking with you too.”

Her high pitched voice.  
  
Then, Itachi knew what followed: low voice and a different topic.  
  
“Whatever... Did you arrive home alright?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Did Re like his name?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
“I have a performance, it’s on Friday. ”  
  
“I’ll be there.”  
  
“Are you nervous?”  
  
“I, eh-”  
  
He chuckled, and it didn’t pass unnoticed by his interlocutor.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You sound cute.”  
  
“Wh-” She started, surprised with Itachi’s flirty instances. Her voice came back to the high pitch. “I don’t think you understand. It’s different.”  
  
Itachi contained a second chuckle; he didn’t think she would get flustered so easily.  
  
She tried again to recover her usual voice, faking hoarseness first.  
  
“This time, I have a solo. This one is not even with the orchestra. I’ll be alone on the stage. It’s from the conservatory.”  
  
“I will be there.”  
  
After that, they rotated to different topics. He just loved talking to her, the lighthearted topics and soft voice was fresh air next to the Uchiha’s somber tone. He liked the ‘what do you think?’ after she interlaced long arguments about Konoha or music or books or whatever subject they were discussing. He also liked her voice getting softer and softer when an intimate issue was mentioned. Some yawns. Now she was enthusiastic about Chopin. Itachi, do you like it?  Her words almost sang. Itachi felt he was drifting away. He liked her stories. He liked her questions. Her voice was as drowsy as his. Eyelids heavy. Yawn. He liked her-  
  
“Wait. What time is it?” Satomi asked, her voice recovering an awake-like intonation. She answered the question herself “Itachi! It’s too late!”  
  
He checked on his phone. 3:30. It was time to hang up, but he didn’t want to. Talking with her made him feel like there wasn’t any predicament in the world, and right now he didn’t have the will to affront Sasuke.  
  
“Mm,” He responded, covering any emotion the expression might show.  
  
“We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise. Remember the recital. Please, I want you there.”  
  
“Goodnight. ”  
  
Then, there were short beeps.  
  
Itachi put his phone on the nightstand and prepared himself to sleep. This was the moment to forget about his fears, suppress every drop of discomfort. He didn’t have time for falling. Itachi’s happiness was going to come back soon, today was only a small obstacle. He just had to rely on the butterflies in his stomach and on his hand tingling and on her voice ―her laugh, her hair, her eyes― to recover joyfulness. If it didn’t come, he’d have to fake it.  


 


	13. Chapter 13

_You smell nice_ ; she had told him before they entered the coffee shop.  
   
It was because of the soap Satomi had chosen, she knew it, and he knew it. However, as a vain compliment, what it was, Itachi felt incredibly flattered.  
   
The rain gently hitting the window he was just centimeters away in his table. The warm steam of tea felt nice on his face, cotton clothes, it’s too cold to wear anything else, he blew away the steam. Warm. Butterflies in his stomach. He smiled. A cold zephyr entered to the small café with every new customer. It was raining. Was she wearing his scarf? The rain's tap-tap.  
   
“Okay, here you got your muffin,” she said while placing the plates on the table, “and here is my food.”  
   
This was a small café Satomi knew. It was in the old part of the city, some blocks away from the artisan street. They had met there and then, walked to the establishment. When entering, Itachi had an overdose with hundreds of different odors:  cinnamon and mint and other various spices, recently-made bread and sweet puff pastry, coffee and different kinds of teas.   
   
Two weeks had happened since the date. This was the only time they could meet. Itachi had every day almost free, but Satomi was always studying or rehearsing with _Konoha’s Philharmonic Orchestra_ , so he let her choose their next meeting.  
   
Itachi munched the muffin.  
   
There was certain coziness emanating from the entire place. A warmth that made him close his eyes and just listen to the rain falling. It still amazed him the force of costumes, the mere act of shutting his eyes held such a strong connotation; it helped him feel he was at home. He admitted it also was because Satomi, her presence was enough to lift his humor.  
   
“How was your week?”  
   
“Hm, pretty normal. What about yours?”  
   
He hated talking about himself. This week had been particularly boring. The most important feature was convincing his mother to let him help her around the house. Itachi preferred listening to her, and her melodic chant of anodyne things that she listed like the destiny of the world was at risk.  
   
She talked about many rehearsals he already knew about; Deidara had missed one because he was in a conference of _Akatsuki_. She asked if when working there, Itachi had assisted to conferences. Yes, many. There was something really aggravating about missing a rehearsal. And Satomi was nervous, because of her recital. And her uncle was working as a clerk in the bookshop.  
   
When she finished talking, there was silence. Itachi knew she was finally touching her food, which she had left aside while speaking. Suddenly, he heard a low shriek.  
   
“Are you alright?”  
   
“I guess it was still very hot.”  
   
She put the cup again on the table and stayed quiet.  
   
“Umm- Itachi…” Her voice was very tiny, almost inaudible. “There’s something I want to ask you.”  
   
He loved her timidity. Her voice becoming softer and softer until he had to lean closer to hear her. But the question never came. She had stopped, probably too embarrassed to actually ask anything. He tried his best to face her and smile.  Whatever she may ask, he was willing to answer.  
   
“Yes?”  
   
A minute passed before she actually said anything.  
   
“Well the thing is that, and I know this is really silly. And you’ll probably think this is dumb but I wanted to know… ” The phrase had started very slow, but with every new word it acquired more and more speed. After so much delay and reluctance, he tried to reaffirm her that whatever she was going to ask was important, but her words started to pile one after another, in a breathless sentence. “Do you really like me?”  
   
Was she worried about that? He chuckled. He clearly liked her. Itachi had kissed her once…  
   
“Don’t laugh at me!” She blurted, with her almost quiet voice. “I know you think it’s stupid, but I really like you and I-”  
   
She stopped.  
   
His heart stopped.  
   
“I like you too.”  
   
Itachi’s cheeks were burning with an unpleasant feeling of disconnection, as if the heat was only on his skin. Tingles, butterflies, a drumming heart.  
   
“So, we are dating?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Satomi sighed, happily.  
   
“Good.”  
   
The conversation migrated to other topics. Particularly Satomi’s week, which Itachi took a keen interest in. He liked listening to her.  
   
“You must think I’m so silly,” A sweet whisper, her voice pitched. She emitted a sound that oscillated between a giggle and a sigh. “Being so awkward and all…”  
   
He smiled again. Satomi had a strange idea about him. Hadn’t she noticed his awkwardness? Itachi was joining unknown territories; he didn’t have any idea how to act in a relationship. This was the first time he had entered into one.  
   
“I don’t mind, I’ve been acting more strange than you.”  
   
She reached his hand and, the same way she did on their past date, put her hand over his, palm against back.  Electric bolts traversed from his hand to his stomach.  
   
And he repeated it, the same confession. It seemed necessary, the words leaving his mouth without him thinking first.  
   
“I like you.”  
   
Itachi finished the beverage, a sigh of contempt left his lips. A long time had happened since the last time he had enjoyed in this way an autumn afternoon. No working, no forms to be filled, no bright white paper, no coffee, no numbness accumulating on the front of his head. Just her and him and the butterflies tickling on his insides.  
   
 “Let’s go.”  
   
When they stepped out of the café, the rain had recessed. Only a few fine, constant drops fell from the trees. Even with all his garments on, and Satomi’s hand interlaced with his, he felt the coldness of autumn air.  
   
“Do you want to go home now?” She asked.  
   
He didn’t want to.  
   
“Walk?”  
   
She opened her umbrella. Itachi thought the rain didn’t justify the use of it, but he didn’t object. He just took the crook handle and blessed the warmness when Satomi embraced his arm.  
   
He was still surprised by how petite she was. Her head barely managed to touch his shoulder. They followed several trails in the park, appreciating the scent of recently wetted earth. His friend ―Girlfriend, he wasn’t used yet to the term―, was humming a song he didn’t know.  
   
“What are you singing?”  
   
He asked. Their walk slow and warm. She was so little. One of his steps was two for her.  
   
“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t have lyrics.”  
   
“Classical?”  
   
“Mozart, Fantasia in D minor.”  
   
“It’s that what you are going to play in the recital?”  
   
“Well, no. But, I like that piece.”  
   
“Then what are you going to play?”     
   
“You’ll have to go.”  
   
She said, finishing the conversation and kissing his cheek.

* * *

 

When he came back, Sasuke was home. It was a surprise; Itachi thought he was going to spend all of his time on _Uchiha Corp._  
   
“Nii-san!”  
   
Itachi smiled. His brother didn’t tell, but, secretly, he was trying too hard to compensate their last discussion. It wasn’t necessary. But Itachi thanked all the time his brother was spending at home.  
   
“How is everything-?” He was in the middle of a question when Sasuke interrupted.      
   
“Naruto is here…”  
   
“Itachi-niisan!”  
   
He searched for the sofa and sat, after confirming the space was empty.  
   
Apparently, Naruto had finally gotten a job. He was studying business in college, and an organization called _Jinchuriki_ had accepted him. Itachi knew the organization, as it was _Akatsuki'_ s only competitor.  
   
Naruto later had also inquired about his life. Itachi didn’t have much to tell, but Sasuke had mentioned Satomi-chan.  
   
“What happened to the guy, you know, the one that hit-”  
   
Naruto abruptly stopped. Or, more likely, his little brother had stopped Naruto.  
   
“Sasuke!”  
   
The subsequent protest confirmed his thoughts. However, the violence was irrelevant as Itachi didn’t care to inform his brother’s friend.   
   
Naruto was shaking his right leg, his knee up and down. Nervous. The young man was always nervous as if a lightning had stroked him and all the new acquired energy had to be discharged in some way. He had always been that way. Itachi still remembered the first time he saw Naruto: a little boy shivering behind the bushes outside the Uchiha household. _Are you lost?_ And the not so calm _what are you doing here?_ Sasuke had yelled. And the sight of blond, spiky hair and the child escaping. With time, the boy had become one of the most important people in Sasuke’s life. He never talked about him, but it noticing the rise on his mood every time Naruto visited was enough.  
   
“Don’t be an idiot, idiot!”  
   
“Hey, why did you hit me? I didn’t say anything wrong?”  
   
Remembering the accident usually caused him a headache: he had already tried to control it, but images flooded his brain. Shards of glass, falling forward, the spinal cord detaching ―no, just the body bent towards the steering wheel―, a pull backward: the seat belt, his brain bouncing, broken cranium, pain on the back of the head. The IV, dripping voices, liquid. Everything was black and liquid. He also was black and liquid. Danzo wasn't guilty.  
   
“Some of us are mature enough to talk about this kind of topics, not like you, Sasuke.”  
   
“Idiot.”  
   
Itachi hadn’t wanted to go to court. In those days, he was confused and everything was dark and he wasn’t used to it yet. A man had appeared in the middle of his therapy, a nasal voice asked him to talk about the accident. Itachi asked everything to be arranged in the least problematic way. No money, no jail, no offense. The elder could have been drunk or mad, it didn’t matter. No penalty.  
   
“I don’t know anything about him.”  
   
Itachi left the two friends after some more talking. His jasmines needed some care.

* * *

Later that night, Sasuke knocked his bedroom door. He opened and told his brother to sit.  
   
“Were you with her?”  
   
Itachi noticed a certain strain on the sentence. As if Sasuke had to spit those words. It was alright, though. At least, now his little brother wanted to talk. He had spent the whole week dodging Itachi. He threw a small smile to the air and answered.  
   
“Yes.”  
   
He hoped his brother was a little bit more open with the topic. It was important for him knowing Sasuke was content with everything. He wanted him to meet Satomi and wished they would get along.  
   
Sasuke waited a few seconds to talk again. Spitting some groans before the sentence.  
   
“How is she like?”  
   
Another smile. He couldn’t answer his brother that, Sasuke would have to find it himself.  
   
“I want to meet her.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
He assumed that was the end of Sasuke’s intended conversation; but today, he wanted to be around of his little brother for another while.  
   
“How was work last week?”  
   
“Madara was asking about you.”  
   
Itachi felt his lungs tight. He had forgotten about the patriarch. Maybe the older man had left the issue to go. Madara wasn’t like that, but maybe the he had realized Itachi wasn’t a menace and had decided to let him get away. If not, the old man would complete his threat very soon.  
   
Given the case, Itachi needed to assure his family’s and Satomi’s wellness.  



	14. Chapter 14

He could barely listen to the individual notes. The group of tones reminded him of a wave becoming vaster and vaster and finally crashing on the shore, to later return to the ocean, drawing with it a million grains of sand; then the mass of water started to grow again.    
  
“You are very talented.”  
  
The notes stopped for a second, a gesture of doubt; then, she retook the piece, faster and more sentimental than before.  The same notes as a mass of water, up, up, up, vaster, then a crash and sand and plants and rocks and seashells and algae, low, lower, lower, pianissimo. And again, up, forte, fortissimo, and the last descent and that was all.   
  
He was too mesmerized to notice when Satomi sat at his side. A kiss on the cheek. Warm.   
  
“It’s not talent; it’s just sheer and foolish determination.”   
  
She rested her head on his arm; her height wasn’t enough to reach his shoulder. That little detail always took him by surprise. Her breathing and his butterflies. Right now, he was dozing. Everything was so sweet and he was so blissful. The feeling like a soft, warm, white blanket. Were butterflies also invading her stomach? Itachi caressed another tress: he had acquired the habit of playing with her hair.   
  
They had barely being together for a month and he was already infatuated.   
  
“I always wanted to ask you what your favorite musical piece is.”  
  
The question of a nightmare, everything was dark and dissolving into light, he was screaming and daisies were removing his eyes.   
  
Those scarring dreams had recessed. However, no everything had disappeared into nothingness; some afternoons, the black hole in the mouth of his stomach returned, his limbs became heavy and he needed to fade into oblivion.  Nevertheless, right now he was happy, everything was transforming in front of him.   
  
“Shisui told me you called him at midnight.”  
  
Oh.  
  
He stopped caressing her hair. To this day, Itachi still didn’t know why he had done that; by that time he hadn’t developed yet any romantic feeling for her. He did it out of genuine curiosity. What did she think about that?  
  
“Don’t worry; we were already dating when he did…”  
  
Dating. The word tasted strange in his mouth.  
  
Satomi snuggled closer to his arm.   
  
She didn’t seem to care. He was going to let it pass; she didn’t need to know his reasons for it.  
  
“On piano, _Un Sospiro_. Liszt,” Satomi said, with a voice between excited and calm. “I’ll play it for you later.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Itachi buried his face in her hair.  It smelled like vanilla.   
  
They were at her house: after having a walk around the park, keeping in mind the cold air, Satomi dragged Itachi to her home, so he could drink something warm before going home. He had declined the former invitation, as it didn’t seem correct for him to enter to her house like that. Then, she insisted. He gave up, he had entered before, and the cold had anesthetized his fingers.   
  
After realizing there wasn’t anything premade, Satomi was burdened with the punishment of making something for him herself. The resultant tea, for which she ran across her kitchen and spilled everything, was bitter. Itachi wasn’t going to tell her that: with the temple of a martyr, he drank it all. Once she told him she was incapable of cooking anything, but he never thought that would extend to the easily-done realm of beverages.  
  
She got up, probably to reclaim her spot at the piano and play her favorite piece to him.   
  
What confused him was her guiding him to the instrument. Satomi had placed him beside her piano’s case, his hand on the top of it.  
  
“If you pay enough attention you’ll feel the vibrations.”  
  
Then, she started playing.  
  
He still remembered the first time he heard her play. She had invited Shisui and him to a rehearsal. They were essaying a concerto for piano and orchestra, Itachi believed. Shisui had fallen asleep. Itachi, instead, was ecstatic. This had happened after he had discovered his new interest for sound, and everything sounded excessively beautiful. Satomi had made some mistakes; however, he adored her performance. That day Itachi had questioned why he had never been taught an instrument.   
  
Then, she had invited them to the final concert. They brought her flowers, that time Satomi hadn’t kissed his cheek, she just rubbed their cheeks together, and even that had been too much for him.   
  
Satomi was right; he could feel the vibrations as she played. His heart throbbed alongside the song.  
  
He sighed ―of course he did, he was supposed to―.  
  
“I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved the romantic period. They whined a lot, but at least, they did it beautifully,” she mentioned, more to herself than to anybody else.  
  
Itachi searched for her and kissed her temple.   
  
“Yes, it’s beautiful.”  
  
Secretly, Itachi was proud she liked him. He always thought differently about himself, and when confronted with his future life, Itachi always thought of someone so distinct to the person he was in front of.   
  
Satomi was better than any other possible girlfriend, that’s why he didn’t doubt when he told her:   
  
“My family wants to meet you.”

* * *

“You never told me your house was so huge,” Satomi stated, pronouncing every word very slow and with a hint of agitation.   
  
She was holding his arm while observing the opulent façade. It was all a lie. Although his family didn’t suffer any kind of penuries, all the sumptuosity and elegance of the house was Madara’s doing. The patriarch of the family, when he felt too old to continue fully in charge of the business, decided to pass the command to his most dedicated employees, one of them surprisingly being Fugaku. Itachi understood why: there wasn’t a man as dutiful and loyal as his father. That had happened almost fifteen years ago ―now Madara was already over ninety―. Until that moment, his whole family had lived in a more modest house; there Itachi had been nine years of his life ―Sasuke only two―. Then, Madara bought and furnished a house away from the center of the city. The family owed everything to Madara.  They have passed from a traditional house with two rooms and little space, to this huge ―in comparison― two-floored house with a dining room for more than ten commensals. It was smaller than other Uchiha residences, though.   
  
“Don’t worry, you’ll fit in.”  
  
He heard a low _I wouldn’t be so sure_ , but he didn’t comment on it, as the message wasn’t addressed to him. Instead, he reassured his companion bringing her closer.   
  
They trespassed the door, only a step inside was enough to feel the difference in the temperature.   
  
Satomi tensed more.   
  
His mother received them with a hello disguised as a squeal.  After that, so many questions came with such impetus that Satomi didn’t have the time to reply any.  
  
“How are you? Is Itachi treating you correctly? Of course he is, Itachi is wonderful, isn’t he? Have you eaten? Where did you get that coat? Isn’t it too hot inside? Give it to me, I’ll put it away. Is it too cold outside? Do you like tonkatsu? You are eating with us today.”  
  
Before he knew, she was taken away from his side.   
  
“How impolite of me! Sit on the couch, darling.”  
  
Itachi presented Satomi, maybe too late.  
  
“Kaa-san, she is Satomi Fumihiko, my girlfriend.”  
  
Yes, that definitely sounded too strange.   
  
“I’m honored to meet you, Uchiha-san.”  
  
“Ah darling, please just call me Mikoto.”  
  
Itachi was sitting on a chair across the sofa when Satomi’s pulled his arm. That meant _sit next to me._ Itachi searched for a place on the couch.   
  
“Sasuke and Fugaku will be at home in a while.  So, why don’t we look at these old albums…”  
  
The proposal had come too soon. His mother had it all prepared. Itachi knew this would happen. His astonishment resided on Satomi, who had happily and almost excitedly accepted to look at him when a child.   
  
“Here is Itachi on the first day at kindergarten.”  
  
“Weren’t you cute?”  
  
Satomi got closer to him.  
  
Her voice was almost completely clear of any kind of anxiousness. That was his mother's ability. However, when Satomi started holding his hand, he noticed the cold sweat.  She must care a lot.   
  
This meeting wasn’t that important. Satomi was an amazing person and, even in the improbable chance his family didn’t accept her, it wouldn't really matter to him. He liked her. That was enough. The only reason he would consider walking away would be if he was putting her in danger or slowing her down. Fortunately, it seemed like that wasn’t happening.   
  
Itachi started digressing, not really capable of participating in the activity his mother had chosen. He thanked Satomi for trying to include him, asking him questions about the photos and telling him random impressions. He didn’t really like to talk about himself, though. He wasn't embarrassed nor feared a very humiliating picture among those his mother treasured; he just not liked himself on photos.  What he really would have wanted to see was Satomi as a baby. She must have been so cute. Maybe she had a video? He'd like to listen to her voice when a child.  
  
“Itachi, are you paying attention?”  
  
“Don’t worry darling, ‘tachi doesn’t like this kind of stuff, especially if it is about him.  If we were on Sasuke’s album, he would be telling you lots of funny stories.”  
  
Satomi removed a little.   
  
“If you don’t want to do this, we can do something else.”  
  
Satomi seemed happy.  He wanted her to be happy; they would stay watching pictures of him.   
  
“Continue. I don’t care.”  
  
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I have to do something in the kitchen, why don’t you show Satomi-chan the house?”  
  
Itachi stood up and waited for Satomi to do the same. Before they started to move, he asked her.   
  
“Do you want to see the house?”  
  
It was a silly question, but he wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, the idea of bringing her home never was supposed to scare her.  
  
“Yes, of course,” Satomi responded.  
  
He smiled. On another place, he would have liked her to hold his hand, however, his house was one of the only areas where he could move at his will without bumping into anything, if Satomi was next to him, they would collide with random surfaces. He valued his last ruins of independence.   
  
“The living room,” He said.   
  
“Clear enough. Next room,” she giggled.  
  
Itachi first showed her the first floor: living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, the four bedrooms they offered to guests, and the little garden in the backyard. Then they moved to the second floor. Satomi exhaled an exclamation.       
  
“The first floor is where all visitants stay,” Itachi explained. “As the second floor is just for the family, it doesn’t need to look so elegant.”  
  
Although not completely naked, on the second floor the fine tapestries, expensive decorations, and other trinkets were missing.  
  
“I think I like more this floor.”  
  
“I also like it more.”  
  
The tour there was shorter. He showed her another bathroom and the bedrooms of the family, finalizing with his.  
  
Itachi’s bedroom was bland. There wasn’t a single object meant to adorn or personalize the chamber.  
  
“My room.”  
  
Satomi entered.   
  
“We can stay here until dinner is ready, if you want.”  
  
At the middle of the sentence, Itachi realized it might be taken as a not-so-innocent proposal. That wasn’t the intention. He hoped Satomi knew it.   
  
He imagined she was inspecting the room. However, there wasn’t much to see. He just had a table with a laptop, a small bookshelf, his bed and two nightstands. Itachi moved the chair of his desk so Satomi could take a seat and he sat on the bed. He could hear Re making bubbles from its place at his right nightstand.  
  
“Re’s bowl is too pretty.”  
  
“Is it?”  
  
Itachi hadn’t paid attention to that, he just asked the clerk for a spacious one.   
  
Then silence.  
  
On his night table, Itachi had a picture of him and Sasuke.  
  
“What were you doing?” Satomi asked, before describing the photo to him. Itachi imagined her holding the photography near his face, in an unnecessary gesture that she would do anyway. It was Sasuke and him holding a cat and a paper with its paw stamped.  
  
He smiled. That was one of his fondest memories with his brother. A long time ago, he had asked his mother to give him the photo and framed it.   
  
“It was a summer, Sasuke was sad because I was going to start school. So, before I entered, I planned a little game. We had to find all the cats in the neighborhood and make a mark of their paw.”  
  
He loved those times so much, before starting school, before overworking himself. Summer, fireflies and cicadas.   
  
“I got a lot of scars that summer.”  
  
Most of them had completely disappeared, but if someone looked too close at his hands and arms, would find small white lines.   
  
“Let me see.”  
  
Itachi extended his right arm and let her trace her fingers along every white line. Tingling.   
  
“Is everything with Sasuke okay?”  
  
An impromptu question.   
  
“Yes, it is.  You’ll meet him today…”  
  
He shouldn’t bother her with his ineptitude.  
  
Satomi felt the topic was curtailed and sighed.  
  
“I guess we also deserve a photo together.”  
  
Itachi knew he wouldn’t enjoy the picture, but he wanted to indulge every Satomi’s whim. More if it was something as ordinary as a photo.  He accepted and waited for her to take out her cell phone.  
  
“Smile!”

* * *

“So Itachi told us you were a pianist…”  
  
“Yes. I-” The pitch of her voice high, “I’ve played the piano since I was a child.”  
  
She was trying to control her speech, however, nervousness betrayed her.   
  
His mother tried to lighten the dense atmosphere without much effect. Although Sasuke was trying, he still couldn’t accept her.  His father wasn’t contributing to either side, his demeanor was calm, however, he didn’t help with conversation. Satomi was trying to seem tranquil when in reality the thick air was suffocating her. Itachi sighed.   
  
Silence.  
  
The sound of cutlery crashing and air solidifying.  
  
Silence.  
  
“I’m done.”  
  
Sasuke left the dining room. The roar of a door closing. _Was he done with her or with the dinner?_  
  
“Don't worry about my son, Satomi-chan. He is always like that.”  
  
Silence. Tensed jaw and hidden tears. Suffocation.  
  
Itachi would talk with Sasuke.  
  
_Try again. Don’t worry. Don’t cry._  
  
Fugaku sighed.  
  
“I’ve also finished. See you around, child.”  
  
His father's approval.  
  
Satomi searched for his hand. Was the result good or bad?  
  
“The truth is we are all really happy Itachi found someone. Thank you Satomi for accepting our son.”  
  
Mikoto’s sweetness was enough for him to realize Satomi had been accepted.  

* * *

That night, when he went to attend his flowers, he noticed a light, putrid smell.  
  
“They are already withering.”  
  
He told to the cold wind and the fallen leaves. His flowers had just been born and now they were rotting. Itachi couldn’t but consider it a bad augury. He knew it was natural.  Yes, those were only flowers. But right now he felt genuinely happy and it didn't seem real.   
  
“It’s normal sweetie, the weather is too cold for them.”  
  
Itachi didn’t realize when his mother stood to his side, or when he entered back to the house. However, his mother was correct. Itachi shouldn't be superstitious. He was content, it was alright.


	15. Chapter 15

“Darling, how are you?”

His mother’s tone was gloomy. Itachi gave her a kiss on her cheek and asked her the same question. He was alright, he was really happy. Eternal smiles and stomach tickles. Sometimes he felt this new state of mind wasn't deserved, but everything was so wonderful: the electric bolts and the warmth and the late phone calls made him neglect that impression. However, he wished his mind wasn’t creating the worst situation all the time, he ignored it, but there always was an intermittent fear. Heavy heart, heavy arms, heavy head. 

Hope was, still, hard to murder.

“I will be with Satomi-chan.”

“I never thought I’ll see my ‘tachi so in love…”

Embarrassment. He didn't love her, not yet.

His mother’s laugh.

“Have fun, sweetheart, if you have any problems, call me.”

“Yes, kaasan.”

Itachi closed the front door and walked to the nearest bus stop. His mother was happy. She deserved it. However, he wasn’t sure how good was that she smiled for him. Her whole life had revolved around her family. The bus was there in ten minutes. _Sasuke did that, Itachi is never home, Fugaku needs these_. He was glad he could help her now in ―more or less― all her duties. Before he realized it, Itachi was in Konoha's Park. Now she could rest and concentrate on herself and forget her role as a mother. He knew she had been a wonderful policewoman before she became pregnant, but somehow, maternity beat justice. 

He knocked Satomi’s door carefully.  A vision hit his mind. Her cries and her warm tears and cold autumn wind and holding hands and the crawling question: What’s wrong? Let me help. Don’t cry. She hadn’t told him anything about that yet.  Now, she seemed content. He hoped that her tears on that afternoon, which even in their probable trivialness haunted him, weren’t important.

The first thing he heard was a sung hello. Then there was a hug. Then there was a kiss on the cheek.

“You are so cold.”

Her hand holding his. He understood the tacit invitation and entered the house. 

“How has your week been?” Itachi asked. He already knew the answer: with multiple phone calls he had learned by heart all her small rants and her daily dilemmas. 

“Well, I already told you most. But yesterday, Deidara missed another rehearsal. I don’t really understand why he, a percussionist, decided to be a part of Akatsuki. But he shouldn’t leave the orchestra like that, it’s rude and thoughtless.”

Itachi smiled; another short diatribe. He imagined her front wrinkled and a childlike pout on her mouth. 

The anger didn’t last long.

“But come, you have to help me to move the sofa.”

He helped her to move all the furniture of the living room. The plan was leaving a clear spot in the middle. They piled the couch and chairs in the corners of the room. Then, Satomi extended a blanket across the floor. 

An inside picnic had been her idea. He would have never imagined something like that; the mere idea reminded him of his childhood and Sasuke’s blanket forts. However, she had proposed it with such an enthusiasm that he couldn’t but comply. All food was bought, he had never learned the art of cooking and letting her prepare the food was risking her house to an imminent fire. Dango, pastries, and other dry desserts were taken from his uncle’s bakery. Beverages were his girlfriend's ―still a strange word to him― duty. She had bought them too: as he had already experienced, she was incapable of making something eatable or drinkable. 

Both of them sat down and organized the food in small bowls. Her hair grazing his arm.  
Itachi loved the way Satomi touched such different subjects in so little time. While he munched dango she talked about bears, her studies, movies, pop singers, books, her uncle, his house, and food. He found hard following the thread of the conversation, her jumps in topics were too great for him. Talking with her ended up as one of the things he liked to do more.  

After they had eaten, her eloquence became clumsier. Itachi understood: he was also sleepy. That automatically happened after the small burst of energy so many sweets produced. Lying down on the floor, with her head on his chest, and four eyes gazing imaginary constellations on the ceiling, the conversation became softer and sweeter.

“You never tell me anything about you. Tell me something…”

“What do you want to know?” 

“I don’t know, just tell me something.”

“This morning, I ate onigiri."

“No!” She exclaimed in a tone that condensed a pout with a giggle. Itachi found that incredibly cute. “Something interesting.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, your favorite color?”

“You found that more interesting than my breakfast?”

“Just answer, Doctor Snake.”

Yes, that old joke she would never forget.

“Blue.”        

“Nice.”

“Yours?”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t it be unfair if only I talked about myself?”

“Maybe white?”         

“Favorite animal?”

“Crow.”

“That is too gloomy.”

“Hummingbird.”

“That’s fits too much.”       

Itachi took a lock of her hair and started twirling it.

“Tomorrow I have my last appointment with Tsunade-sama.”

“Are you worried?”

“I want to end it.”

“It’s good, then.”

There were some minutes of silky silence. He concentrated on the weight of her head on his lungs. Breathe up and down. This was life, this was good.

“Itachi-”

The phrase was incomplete, the word, pronounced in the middle of the drowsiness, made its three syllables move up and down like a small wave. He answered with a hum.

“I really like your family.”

He liked them, too.

“I think they are really nice, all of them. I like how sweet your mother is and your father sternness and how your brother tries to hide how kind he actually is.”

He admired the way she talked about his family, somehow, with such loose descriptions, she had been accurate about the three of them.

“You know, Sasuke gave me a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Chocolate. He did that after you two took me home.”

“That seems unlike him.”

“I guess he wanted to make a good impression.” Then, she continued. “Anyway, I really like your family. I wish mine was like that.”

“Your uncle seems friendly.”

Itachi had never met him, but Satomi’s descriptions of him made the man look like a kind and clever person.

“I guess he is. But I wish the rest of my family was like yours.”

A tinge of sadness.

“They are not perfect. My father is too exigent.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of that?”

She reached a convoluted topic.

“Every day, but now he doesn’t care about what I do.”

She didn’t ask for more explaining.

“My father is really severe too.”

“Is he the one that makes you doubt about your talent?”

“Wh-“ Her voice tearstained. “Yes.”

He wasn’t capable of inquiring more. 

His hand on her cheek. Flushed and humid.

“It doesn’t matter then, I’ll share my family.”

“Itachi?”

He hummed again. 

“I think I might be falling in love with you.”

* * *

“Can you see anything?”

He could feel the heat of the lantern crashing with his eye, but there wasn’t any light.

“No.”

This was nothing more than a formality. Both of them had lost hope after the first week.   
This was the last regular appointment. Then, Itachi’s only concern would be Inoichi and his insufferable therapy. He handed the woman the last series of tests. A CT and an MRI. He didn’t need to ask her for the results. She made the usual annotations on his file. _No changes on the cranial pressure.  Permanent cortical blindness. Damage to the occipital cortex._

“Any headaches?”

Yes, Itachi’s head had ached so strongly he had to lie down and wait for the pain to go away. But he didn’t want to tell her that. He knew what had caused those, just his own mind and his poor control of emotions. It was mental, not physical; therefore, he could take care of that alone.

“No.”

Tsunade shifted uncomfortably on her desk. Itachi knew the signs. Even doctors, with all their experience on decreeing deaths, were human: they got nervous before bad news, they trembled before long talks about how some damages were irreversible. But he already knew that. There wasn’t any light: his vision was completely lost from the moment he woke up in the darkness.

“Itachi, we both knew recovery was almost impossible. I told you from the first day.”

“Yes. I understand.”

A longer answer was useless. Tsunade stopped there any motivational talk she aspired to give him. He understood and he had already finished his grieving process ―or at least, he liked to think that―. Itachi didn’t blame her. She had looked after him on his time in Intensive Care; she had coordinated his therapies, both psychological and physical. No, he didn’t blame her. Itachi wasn’t ungrateful. He blamed himself and his carelessness in that crucial second before the crash. 

That was all. He could leave.

“Thank you, Tsunade-sama.”

She had tried, but some cases were impossible. The human body was fragile. Nostalgia invaded him whilst he walked away from the room. Iron in his mouth, the scent of antibacterial and the extreme cold hospitals emanated. 

* * *

Few days had passed since Satomi’s visit. His mother continuously chanted about how wonderful, pretty and intelligent his girlfriend ―he wasn’t accustomed to the term yet ― was. Itachi, on the other hand, was still trying to stop those annoying bugs from eating his insides and that glow from scorching his chest. He had accepted his fondness for her, but the physical sensations made him feel out of control. Itachi didn’t like that sentiment.    
He was dusting the dining room when he heard the front door opening. That meant his father and Sasuke had gotten home. He was happily surprised with how they had accepted Satomi. Fugaku didn’t talk a lot about her, but that night, after Sasuke and Itachi had taken her to her house, he gave his usual grunt of approval. His little brother hadn’t shown any external sign of consent, but his words were less tense and when Itachi mentioned her, the answer wasn’t spat nor barked.

Then Itachi heard another voice. It was too recognizable to not being cautious about it: a deep tone which whistled the end of every phrase, raspy undertones protruded every now and then. And Itachi knew that special timbre was nothing but a bad omen and his flowers were dying and he was getting used to his new life, he was getting used to listening to Satomi’s songs every single day and it would be a fault of common sense thinking that voice wasn’t going to murder his newly acquired life. 

He waited for his call. They didn’t make them wait.

Itachi entered the living room with all the elegance his Uchiha genes guaranteed. His pride didn’t let him give up yet, not when she probably loved him and he was finally regaining the pace of his life. He couldn’t accept low shoulders and down face. Not yet. He still could win.

Obito had been Madara’s right hand for many years. The patriarch had become his one and only mentor after Rin, Obito’s beloved, died.  Man, in moments of desperation, usually took any lifeboat the world offered, it didn’t matter how trivial or mundane it was. Losing all hope, the broken nerves, the shaky hands, the torn apart mirror, were just parts of the same merry-go-round. His cousin and he had gotten the bad part.

His father seated on his right, on his left Itachi could sense Sasuke tensing up. 

“I want to talk just with Itachi.”

Doubt. Protection. 

“Father, Sasuke.”

In little time, he was alone with Obito.

“Madara has not forgotten about you.”

Yes. He hadn’t. Itachi’s blindness had become a personal affront. All his hopes of liberation were delusional.

Head up. Shoulders tensed.

“And what does he want you to say?” To the center of the matter. Prolonging this was useless.

“The same straightforward Itachi, I see.”

“I’m too busy to bear with your talk.”

Obito laughed.

"No, you aren't."

Then, his cousin stood up and walked around the living room. Some minutes of his heavy steps on the floor.

“You seem to forget this entire house belongs to Madara and you have angered him.”  
Any answer to that twisted rhetoric was useless: deep inside, Itachi believed it.

“Your crippled and useless self will be taken to a house away from Konoha. We expect cooperation.”

Obito started standing up. Extending more the reunion would be unbearable for the two.

“Anyway, remember to follow Madara’s wishes. You know money controls the whole city and we know you don’t want your brother or the rest of your family to suffer.”

This intimidation, the slow torture of month after month wondering when he would be after Madara took him away ―wherever away meant―, wasn’t anything but the Uchiha own, intimate way of punishing. But, although his reason knew it was real, his heart didn’t react. Everything in his new life seemed so safe.  Itachi, I think I’m in love with you. And he wished that never ended. However, even in contradiction with his soul, Itachi’s mind had already created millions of plans. Because he knew this was unfair with Satomi, Itachi was being thoughtless. He was hurting her more than he should. 

He had submitted to Madara’s wishes. The only question was when he would leave.


	16. Chapter 16

He was still being unfair with Satomi.   
  
“I was thinking we could see each other before the concert.”  
  
But he was weak. Itachi didn’t know how or why, but the prospect of leaving the city and being ostracized didn’t look imminent. His reason objected, but somehow he managed to believe everything was going to get better, Itachi was going hold to that until the last second.  
  
“Are you finally telling me what you are going to play?”  
  
The entire conversation seemed wrong. Talking with her was wrong. After Obito’s sermon, he didn’t know what to do. He was hurting her more this way. But Itachi still had a hope he shouldn’t have. And he adored talking with her and listening to her and all her strange quirks when talking.  
  
“No. You’ll have to guess there.”  
  
The last part of the sentence was sung.  
  
Butterflies, warmth, melodic tones, the breathtaking awareness that she was there.  
  
“It’s in Konoha’s Metropolitan Theater.”  
  
When thinking calmly about his life, everything about the accident seemed surreal. The most oneiric part was his relationship.   
  
  
“You sound really worried.”     
  
Yes, even if he was shamelessly paying more attention to her voice than her words, he noticed the shaky tones and the high pitched endings.  
  
“Well, yes. It’s really complicated…”  
  
He remembered that time on the fair she had cried because she thought she was mediocre.   
  
“You’ll be good.”  
  
Itachi knew how much she had practiced. Days and days of an endless dialogue between her and the piano. What was she playing? How did his life feel before the accident? Was he ever going to do the right thing and letting her go?  
  
“Remember my dad? He is coming. That’s why I really want you to come.”  
  
She pronounced the phrase so fast that words piled up. Itachi wondered if she had cried that day in the park because of her father. He didn’t like her dad, nor the mystery surrounding his figure, nor the tears he had turned loose. Satomi’s interpretations were beautiful, heartfelt, transparent. _Don’t cry for him._    
  
But the question was still there. What happened with her family? With all the stress his father's approval required, they were still united. Fugaku proved himself as a good dad.  
  
“I’ll get there after an appointment.”  
  
He hadn’t told her yet he was going to the therapist. Itachi didn’t want to alarm her for something so silly.  
  
“Please be there! I have a rehearsal.”  
  
That was the ending of the call. Itachi put the cell phone on his nightstand and waited for the butterflies to leave. Wind howled. A light but persistent rain tapped his window. It was ten in the morning, but he knew everything was covered in a dense aggrupation of clouds.   
Itachi opened his window. The water drops, like microscopic needles, pricked his skin. A vague feeling of gloom appeared with their contact.

  
He didn’t want to go to Inoichi’s today. He wished he could stay with Satomi throughout all her rehearsal and support her when her wicked dad entered the scene.  
  
A sigh.  
  
_I’m going. Don’t worry._  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Itachi wondered who could be. He didn’t have much of a social life and his work life had ended. He slowly traversed the room back to his bed and searched for the phone.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Itachi, man. It’s Kisame.”  
  
He hadn’t heard from his friend for a while. Akatsuki was in the occupied season.   
  
Although the call wasn’t expected, it was pretty much well received. He always liked to talk with Kisame. Something about his sincerity refreshed Itachi’s own vagueness.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Hey, we have to meet.  I have good news.”

  
A good new after Obito’s conversation wasn’t feasible. Even if he was evading the facts-  
  
“Hm. Tell me.”  
  
He knew his short words might have appeared too bitter or sharp to anyone else, but Kisame and he had been friends for a while. His interlocutor knew that, when confronted with something that merited a larger answer, he would have it.  
  
“No, man. Let me told you in person. That way you can’t escape. When are you free?”  
  
“I’m always free.”  
  
Itachi smirked when he heard the laugh on the other line. _Don’t pity me. Don't act like me._  
  
“Then I’ll call you when I can. See you around.”  
  
Kisame hung up before he could answer. It wasn’t important. Their friendship was like that.  
  
After the impromptu call, Itachi concentrated in the task he was supposed to do. Inoichi had asked him to write the things he liked more about his life on a list. However, the only aspect that came to his mind was Satomi. He didn’t really want to talk about her with the therapist. He didn’t like going there. The appointments had become tedious, colorless and unsuccessful. However, making a list seemed like the best way to prove himself cooperative. Itachi would write ambiguous answers.  
  
Sasuke.  
Satomi.  
Dango.  
Jasmines.  
My family.  
Shisui.  
  
He didn’t know what more to write. Half of the page, remaining white, laughed at him. 

The appointment with Inoichi was programmed for two o’clock.

  
After helping his mother with the dishes, he got ready and left the house. Itachi’s new way of transportation, the bus, had become the perfect place to think. The only interruption usually was the dull voice in the speaker that announced the next stop.   
  
Today, he had woken up with warmness in his loins and an icy coldness in his hands. Satomi had said she probably loved him. Itachi knew he didn’t, yet. Still, someday he would love her. Someday, the excitement and the butterflies in his stomach and the bolts of electricity would transform in absolute calm, and then he would consider her as a part of his own self and then, Itachi would know he loved her. But there was Obito, his deep voice, and his assigned words.  He had vocalized that black spot Itachi and everyone he cared about had ignored. Itachi yearned with all his heart he could see Satomi. He just could imagine her glances to the music manuscript and the smiles in random parts of her songs. He could just imagine her hair and her features and her wet eyelashes when she laughed until the verge of tears. He could just imagine.   
  
Equally, without sight, he couldn’t protect anyone. Somehow, Itachi knew his whole influence in the world had diminished after the accident. Sasuke’s admiration was gone. All that he had left from his old life was the bile of failure and the melancholy of regret.   
  
Maybe they were all better without him.   
  
But Itachi presently didn’t have the guts. Someday he was going to leave, something would make him leave, but he wished that happened in a distant future.  
  
Next stop, Yamanaka Street. This stop is close to the Yamanaka psychiatric center and the Akatsuki Building.  
  
He got up.   
  
After a few minutes of walking, Itachi was at the gates of the Yamanaka building. On his right, resided his old workplace, a skyscraper with a red cloud as its logo. However, that wasn’t anything his now. He continued to his appointment.  
  
Itachi had arrived too early, a common act of he did in honor of punctuality.   
  
They called him soon.  
  
He turned the latch slowly and entered the room.   
  
“Hello, Itachi-kun.”  
  
The words came in a hiss.  
  
He knew that unnatural and affected tone. Itachi could imagine his interlocutor licking his own lips in a predator-like way.  
  
His body felt empty. Heavy chest, concrete lungs, beating heart. Orochimaru. This was Madara’s plan: the best way to make his reclusion legal was accusing him of being a danger to society, or to himself. However, he wasn’t as preoccupied of his destiny as he was about his family. Would they know where he would be?   
  
He didn’t talk: just sat and waited for the final sentence.  
  
“I had heard you’ve been very depressed later, Itachi-kun.”  
  
If that was the diagnosis, he knew what was next. The expected cries of his mother flooded his ears: in some asylums, there wasn’t uncommon the disappearances of inmates. Then their corpse in the backyard  
  
“I believe you have to be assigned to suicide watch.”  
  
Itachi was right.  
  
Trembling hands, a cold, sticky sweat covering his body: pounding heart and the taste of blood in his mouth, maybe he was better dead, what was he even doing? All this pantomime was useless, stupid, and he was dead.  Get up. His loins contracting, nausea. What about Satomi? She was better away, everyone was better away. Then, an overwhelming ringing in his ears. And then, silence, and then complete nothingness. Numbness.  
  
Itachi didn’t protest. What would happen with Sasuke? And Satomi? Now he wouldn’t be there. Who would protect his brother from the clan? Who would protect his beloved from her dad?   
  
“Hmm… For what I see, Itachi-kun, your stay will be long.”  
  
There was a dim necessity of knowing where he was going to stay, but it ceased before his mind reacted.  
  
Then, he heard the voice of a person he always knew was in the room.  
  
“So you came low enough to come here.”  
  
Madara.      
  
“I’ve never thought I will see the day when an Uchiha became touchy-feely and talked about his emotions.”  
  
The words insulted him. However, he had always known he contrasted with the rest of the Uchiha. His ideals, his dreamt-life, his thinking process, were different to those of his family. Most of the clan was rigid and cold like his father, but Itachi had inherited his mother’s kindness.  
  
“I was sent.”  
  
Itachi wanted to clarify that. Even in his difference, he didn’t like therapists. He didn’t like to throw his inner feelings and thoughts to others.  
  
“Sent? I saw it when you entered this room, Itachi. You were sure your life would improve. I thought more of you.”  
  
A silence and the sound of rain hitting the window. Strangely, the noise that had comforted him so much had become unbearable. A million bullets in his ears.  
  
“We both know you’re useless now, Itachi.”   
  
The patriarch's voice was as serious and low. Much like Itachi’s own voice most of the time.  
  
“You have passed from being a great man to this. You are pathetic. I guess all these months you have listened to all those self-help talks they give to people like you. That seems the only answer why you hadn’t killed yourself.  I thought you more intelligent Itachi.”  
  
There was a pause in his discourse. Itachi sat there, mind blank. He didn’t expect it like this. Madara was right. Why did he think something would change? Killing himself had crossed his mind a few times. He should have done it, spare everyone from his presence.  
  
“You are dead weight. I have to take care of you. You will slow everyone. You have to be taken away.”  
  
Yes.   
  
His phone started ringing. He knew that tone. He had changed it after she told him that was her favorite song. But he couldn’t sigh.  
  
“We’ll wait for you out of the building.”  
  
All these months spend with emotion strangling his throat were replaced for numbness and conviction. The words flowed like water.   
  
“I’m not going.”  
  
“Wh-” The nervous pause “Is everything alright.”  
  
“I don’t want to go.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“I don’t want to be near you.”  
  
“Okay, Itachi, that’s the worst joke you have ever muttered.”  
  
Low pitched voice and fear.  
  
“I was playing, Fuhimiko-san. I don’t care about you.”  
  
The three beeps. The call was ended. He turned his phone off.   
  
Itachi was leaving.

* * *

 


	17. Chapter 17

He left the building and entered a car.

The journey was silent. Nor Madara nor Orochimaru uttered a word. Not even one of Itachi’s thoughts dared to break the muteness. They started moving; the inertia threw him forward, like that black day six months ago.  
  
He calculated four hours before the vehicle stopped. But in his eyeless state knowing anything was impossible.  
  
They made him get down. Mud greeted his feet.  
  
An umbrella held by an anonymous hand shielded him from the rain.   
  
“Don’t try to leave.”  
  
The car closed its doors and Madara left.   
  
Now, his only companion was Orochimaru.   
  
“Are you ready, Itachi-kun?”  
  
Itachi heard a honeyed chuckle.   
  
The walk to his seclusion was slow. His steps and Orochimaru’s echoed in the wet soil.   
  
He wished the end of the rustic road led to his execution. But then the rain stopped hitting the impermeable cloth of the umbrella, and the soft texture of soil became hard as tiles.   
  
“Itachi-kun is here to be voluntarily committed. He is having suicide thoughts lately, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
They told him where to sign and he did. The pen scratching the paper tore his ears. Violence.   
  
Behind him, a metal door closed.  
  
A nurse took his arm and told him where to go. They crossed a long hallway. Then, he gave him clothing that reminded a hospital scrub and told him to take his clothes off.  Itachi waited for him to leave. The man stayed in front of him, impassible and with little sense of embarrassment.   
  
“I will dress alone.”  
  
“I can’t leave, Itachi-san, I have to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”  
Itachi felt irritated by the cheerful tone. However, what rationality held conserving his modesty?  
  
Anyway, he was trapped in this place.   
  
He hesitated.   
  
“Leave.”  
  
Itachi heard the distinguishable sound of someone writing on a clipboard.   
  
“I can’t, Itachi-san.”  
  
A man as useless as him didn’t have the right to privacy.  
  
He undressed. The nurse was probably making sure Itachi didn’t have any object that could cause harm. The new shirt, of a light fabric, was too loose on him. The pants, of the same material, were barely held by an elastic band. Itachi let the textile of his old clothes grace his fingers while folding his clothes.  
  
“Itachi-san, now we are going to take your vitals, sit here, please,” he said while leading him to the chair.  
  
“My name is Kabuto, by the way.”  
  
The name was combined with the leathery touch made by the cuff of the blood pressure gauge. Itachi didn’t care about that name.  
  
“Everything seems alright here.”  
  
After that, he felt the metal of the stethoscope licking his chest. It was disgusting how they treated him with such familiarity and disrespect. When Kabuto asked him to breathe while moving the artifact across his back, Itachi knew he had lost any shred of dignity he had safeguarded in the last five hours.   
  
Then, he was weighted.    
  
Whatever number the scale had given was worthless.  
  
“Alright, Itachi-san, let me take you to your room.”  
  
His cell phone, keys, and cane were left abandoned in that place.

  
After another long walk through hallways, with Kabuto taking Itachi’s arm as a rudder, they arrived at the small bedroom.  
  
“You should consider yourself lucky, Itachi-san, must of our inmates have to share rooms.”  
  
The chamber was cold and humid.  
  
“I want to have my jacket back.”  
  
“I’ll ask Orochimaru-sama about that later. Usually, you have to win all those privileges.”  
  
Was not dying from hypothermia a privilege? For people like him, yes.  
  
“You can rest now, a nurse will come later to explain the rules and show you the place.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Itachi closed the door and searched for the bed. He found it six steps in front of the doorway. It was a small room.  
  
Right now, he didn’t care about the rest of his new life. Itachi just wanted to sleep.  
  
How was Sasuke?   
  
And his family?  
  
And Satomi? Albeit he should forget about her.

* * *

Sleep never came. Itachi spent the entire time before supper looking at the imaginary white ceiling. With his mind completely blank and his inability to entertain himself with the figures the formless painting created, he didn’t understand how sleep never came.   
  
A nurse called Karin brought him a trail of food. She never informed what the dinner was.  
  
He wasn’t hungry. So, Itachi left the trail on the floor and waited for something new to happen.   
  
The bed had proven to be uncomfortable and hard. However, it was the only place where Itachi tolerated existing. In the last hours, that passed as slow as days, his mind had acquired a new state of total numbness. Completely blank, there wasn’t a single preoccupation or emotion in his soul. He had lost them all now.  
  
Half an hour later, Karin came back. After insulting him for not eating, she showed him the institution.  
  
Without shoes, the ceramic floor was icy cold.   
  
He walked beside her through the eternal hallways.   
  
In front of his room, there was a Day Room, where inmates could spend their time in mornings and afternoons. In contrast with the hallway floor, here the floor was carpeted, which implied more comfort for his feet. Karin didn’t have the patience or the will to extensively show him anything. He just heard the noise of a television and the chatting of people. His guide shoved him out of the place and took him through another hallway.  
  
Itachi could hear her muttering in what seemed a litany: rooms, rooms, rooms, with every step they took. To the right of the _Day Room_ , there was a garden. Then, she showed him another garden and another _Day Room_ , located in the left wing of the building. The exam room, Orochimaru’s office, and the pharmacy where located in the center of the ward, surrounded by the patients’ rooms and their socializing rooms. There also was a conference room, the _Time Out Room_ , a small kitchen and a cafeteria.   
  
“You wake up at eight. A nurse will come take your vitals and then lead you to the cafeteria. After breakfast, you will be taken to the med windows and will be given your medicine. Then you can shower. After that, there’s _Morning Group_. Then free time. Then, there’s lunch.  On the afternoon, there are more group therapies and free time. Dinner is at five, lights are out at ten.”  
  
In little time, Karin had him seated and waiting for Orochimaru.   
  
The institution had a dark air emanating from every wall. Humidity held a snake-like aura; a wet chill slithered across the walls. He was going to get medicated.  
  
Orochimaru’s hisses mingled with a pen's writing.  
  
“Did Karin show you the place?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Cold climbed through his calf.   
  
Itachi didn’t pay enough attention to remember the name of the medication. Did he need it? Or was it the best way to keep him restrained? It was probably Madara's order.  
  
He wanted to sleep.   
  
The psychiatrist sent him to a Med Window and bid farewell while licking his lips.  
  
A nurse took him there. They kept babysitting him. The woman, called Guren, dragged him across the hallways. Once in the pharmacy, he received an oval pill with indents that divided it into four equal parts. He swallowed it dry.  
  
She took him to his room.   
  
“Don’t close the door.”  
  
There wasn’t a lock.   
  
He laid on the bed and waited for sleep to come. Before that, he had the arrival of nurses’ chatter, rain crashing against the roof and a piercing scream.  But then, he stopped feeling his legs, and then his arms, and then his chest and then sleep ripped him apart. 

The nightmares came back. However, his sleep weighted more.  Itachi never woke up. He had to endure the milky-white light and the lumps of darkness that started invading his eye sockets.   
  
A nurse woke him up at eight the next day, just as the schedule stated. Kabuto took his blood pressure and his temperature; then gave him his unnecessary medications. Sleep fell over him again.  
  
There was certain tranquility in day sleep. No nightmares dared to touch Morpheus when there was light. And then, Itachi could imagine he was dead, that the humidity of the room was nothing more than the wet soil of the cemetery covering his coffin, and that the beating inside his head was rain crashing against his gravestone.  
  
Kabuto took him to the cafeteria at lunch time. Itachi didn’t remember what he was given, food gave him nausea.    
  
“It’s everything okay, Itachi-san?”  
  
“My head hurts.”  
  
After eating, a nurse gave him the nameless pill and a painkiller. 

  
Itachi was back in his room, but he didn’t remember how he had gotten there.  
  
In little time, he was asleep again.  
  
When little spaces of consciousness came, he captured the air in his lungs and thought about his family. He had been disappeared for a day, already. Maybe Shisui was frenetically searching for him while his mother cried and his father faked strength. Madara had probably told them. Sasuke would be torturing the doors and screaming to his windows. Satomi would be dating someone new. He didn’t deserve her anyway. A frost started to creep through his arms. Then, sleep came.  
  
Karin dragged him out of his room for dinner. The cafeteria was unbearable, the clashes of cutlery and the calm chatting of other interns cracked his eardrums.  
  
“What are you going to eat?”  
  
“A salad.”  
  
Then he ate cabbage that tasted like ashes and little care for his own life.  
  
“Orochimaru will see you after dinner.”  
  
All around him, the sound of pens scratching paper increased its volume.   
  
No intern tried to engage in conversation. He wouldn’t talk, anyway.   
  
Three bites.   
  
Itachi didn’t need to see for knowing his plate was almost full, however, he didn’t want more.  
  
Then, he was taken to the Main Psychiatrist office. Orochimaru licked his lips.   
  
“How are you feeling Itachi-kun.”  
  
His honeyed voice and the use of that honorific incremented his wishes to puke.  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
A laugh.  
  
“Madara is very preoccupied for your wellbeing, Itachi-kun. You must be grateful.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
For different reasons, he was supposed to be grateful with Madara. The almost-centenary man had made Itachi the person he was a year ago. And even if he didn’t know how good that was, at least Itachi was useful.   
  
“So how are the medicines working? Are you feeling better?”  
  
What did that mean? Being sedated marked an improvement in his state.  
  
He never answered, instead, in a heavy silence, Itachi waited until he was dispensed.   
  
The moment came soon.   
  
This time, there wasn’t any nurse to take him to his room. Itachi left the office stumbling with different pieces of furniture. The walls, at the touch, imitated the texture of recently-painted spaces: a watery film stayed in his hand when it guided him through the hallways.   
  
A foreign hand stopped him in his track.  
  
“Itachi-san, let me help you.”  
  
And he just complied.  
  
After trespassing the umbral of his room, Kabuto asked:  
  
“Did you already take your night-medicines, Itachi-san.”  
  
He had forgotten. However, the prospect of going out again and making a line so the oval pill could poison his throat wasn’t friendly.  
  
“No.”  
  
“I’ll bring them to you.”  
  
This time, the drug came with a glass of water. He thanked not having a small object stabbing his larynx.   
  
Then, he prepared himself to pass the second night.   
  
Numbness escalated through his fingers and his mind acquired a brighter and brighter shade of white that absorbed any thought. His heartbeat, infuriated all day between fits of care for Sasuke and Satomi, calmed down almost to the point of death. His lungs, heavy all day, became feathery. And then, Itachi felt the same nothingness the whole day had accumulated on him.  
  
At midnight, he was already trapped in a nightmare.

 


	18. Chapter 18

_Day two._

  
The aqueous feeling of a snake slithering up his leg woke him up. His body ached beneath the stiff blanket. On the hallway, nurses talked and walked around. His mouth was dry.   
  
Itachi walked to the small bathroom and searched for the sink. Water tasted like copper. He swallowed the heavy liquid with the same passivity he let the killer pills slide across his throat. What time was it? The cold floor numbed his feet. The bed, with its stone-like mattress, resonated under his weight. Dry lungs. His mind secreted thoughts made of black bile until he fell into a blank unconsciousness.   
  
Kabuto came for him at eight in the morning; he started an obnoxious talk Itachi didn’t listen to, while taking his vitals. The force of the blood pressure gauge in his arm.  
  
“Let me get you to the cafeteria.”  
  
Itachi ate an apple and waited to be taken to the pharmacy.   
  
The atmosphere, dense and airless, was full of small talks, nervous laughs and the thunderous noise of cutlery clattering against a plate. Itachi filled his wait with useless recalling of times he had eaten an apple. Five. However, memory was a fragile capacity, and his counting should have exceeded the dozen. A half hour later he was swallowing an oval pill without water.  
  
He heard Kabuto talking about a goal meeting, but Itachi was too tired to even try.  
  
Again surrounded by a harsh blanket, Itachi thought about Sasuke.   
When his little brother was born, he had to wait outside. From the hallway, Itachi could hear the screams of pain and the encouragement of nurses. His father was nervous. Through Fugaku's serious gaze, Itachi could guess the fidgeting fingers and the guttural sounds. Then, the noise stopped and both of then entered the room. Sasuke was small. His mother was extenuated. But Itachi was too mesmerized by the newborn. That was life: the faint pressure the baby’s little hands made when holding Itachi’s middle finger.  
  
It was funny, though, how in the course of two days he had become this shell of his antique being. Or, maybe he had always been this shell. Actually, why he wished to live? What was life?  
  
Days and nights of eternal vigil trying to complete a hundred pages full of meaningless numbers,  the cold gaze of the entrepreneurs, his dad religiously demanding perfection, Sasuke’s pain, the cold hands and the particles of glass burying in his skin, the white light, the black liquid, a small moment of wistfulness —but music was tearing his ears apart, and he was blind—, fishes and tears and books that were as useless as him, months of slow tenderness in his bowels, Satomi’s piano, the clandestine smile in the middle of a kiss, waves of notes, a shared family, falling into disgrace. Death, rotten flowers, a blank mind. That was his life.  
  
He fell asleep, ignoring the acrid taste of his mouth.  
  
Then, the process repeated itself. He was taken out of his room, the noise of the cafeteria strangled him, food nauseated him, he fought with all his will to not collapse asleep in the hallways. Itachi felt lightheaded, sick, empty. He couldn’t determine if the offender was the pill or just him. The whole sentiment reminded him of the first days at home after the accident. But this time, he was isolated.  
  
Back in his room, he did not sleep. His hands ached, full of electricity; his heart raced, his ribs were breaking. Itachi just laid in bed, concentrating on the sound of water hitting the roof. Then, again, Kabuto and dinner, then a visit with Orochimaru, then the same oval pill, then his limbs dying and total unconsciousness.  
  
  
  
_Day three._  
  
Woke up. It was too early, the only noise in the hallway was the eternal passing of nurses. The bed was too uncomfortable. He got up; nausea was created in his rise. Today, the icy floor seemed heavenly. Thirst. The water tasted like copper. Instead of going back to his bed, he sat on the floor, his back laid on a side of the bed, like that time he spoke with Shisui about Satomi. Where was she? Everything outside his little room had become hazy and tenebrous. The floor was so cold that it seemed wet. He hoped her father hadn’t hurt her. However, he shouldn’t think about Satomi.   
  
Instead, he thought about Sasuke. Even with his little age, Itachi had learned to take care of him: feeding, changing diapers, calming cries, everything had become so important. What troubles could have a four-year-old? And however, Itachi poured in Sasuke all his interest for life. Mikoto had always said he was too sensible, too kind. The first word Sasuke pronounced was nii-san.    
  
His legs were numb when Kabuto entered the room.  
  
Good morning, Itachi-san. Walk to the cafeteria. Eat cereal —half of the bowl—. Swallow the pill. Go back to his room. Lay on bed and sleep.   
What if Sasuke ended here too? Then, Itachi wouldn’t know and he couldn’t protect his little brother. Once, they were playing hide and seek and his little brother fell and scratched his knee. First, tears appeared in his eyes and a low wail started to leave his mouth. But Sasuke thought crying was for girls, and he absorbed any sign of weakness. When they were chasing cats, Itachi made sure the claws only hurt his own skin. He was lucky to have the scars, without them, Satomi wouldn’t own any white line whose trajectory she could follow with her fingers. No. A scream in the hallway, someone else had broken down.  
  
Orochimaru attended him earlier. Kabuto went for him before dinner.   
  
Scrapping on Itachi’s medical history.   
  
“How are you feeling Itachi-kun?”  
  
Blank.  
  
“Good.”  
  
He knew what was written in his story. Suicidal ideation, disorientation, alogia, alexithymia, restlessness.  
  
Onigiri. Swallow dry. Go back to the room. Death spreading from his extremities to his core.   


  
  
_Day four._  
  
He woke up before time. Then, vomited. The taste of the running water gave him nausea again. Itachi, without thinking much, got back to the bed. No sleep came, hours passed slowly. A vague fear sliding across his body. He didn’t want to live.   
  
Kabuto. Where were the other nurses? Breakfast. Morning pill. Someone crying. The sermon for not assisting to Support groups —actually, they didn’t want him to go—. Take a shower, change his clothes. Lay in bed.   
How weak was human mind? What were four days?   
  
Unconsciousness.  Stiff blanket. Sasuke, not Satomi. Dinner. Rotten Cabbage. Orochimaru. Night Pill. His room. Nurses walking.   
  


  
_Day five._  
  
Itachi graduated a Saturday. A small ceremony covered in dark clouds and rain. He had escalated so many classes so quickly, that his under bags were longer than ever. Uncomfortable in the inflexible clothes, he did his best to disguise his fatigue. Sarutobi-sama, the Third Hokage and the leader of the Village smiled at him during the speech.  Itachi smiled back. They all said he was gifted, a genius, the bearer of a bright future for Konoha. The weight was too much, but he was used to it. Since a toddler, everybody pronounced the same words. Now, every praise seemed cut from a cupboard mold. Shisui laughed with some of Itachi classmates, his mother was taking photos, Fugaku held him in an approving gaze, and Sasuke was so proud…   
  
He was entering Akatsuki and keeping his job in Uchiha Corp. However, Itachi didn’t want that life. Why was he going to work? He didn’t desire money. When imagining a happy life, Itachi thought of a simple house and a wife and two children. He wasn’t ambitious. What his family wanted, what Madara asked for, was all external to his soul.  
  


  
_Day six._  
  
They didn’t let him walk in the hallways without a nurse. Kabuto was always there to take him to the cafeteria and to get him his pills. Madara wants you to get better. No more pressure to go to the group meetings. Where those real? Orochimaru augmented the dose of his medicament. He thought about Sasuke. Satomi shouldn’t graze his mind. Nightmares started again.  


  
  
_Day seven._  
  
His dreams were made of a darkness that stained and the fetid odor of jasmines. With cold sweat and a needle-like mattress, he spent the rest of the night curled up on the floor.   
  
A week had passed.  
  


  
_Day eight._    
  
Now, all the foods had the indistinct taste of ashes. Itachi didn’t really understand what was happening. He didn’t understand, either why he was alive. Madara should have killed him. He was alone and his throat seemed to have replaced his vocal chords with blood clots. The days he wasted with his mind blank, jumping between restless sleep and a state of semi-consciousness were followed by nights of memories and red eyes.   
  


  
_Day nine._  
  
Once, Sasuke asked him to help with algebra homework. His little brother didn’t need any help; it was all a ruse so they could spend time together. Itachi didn’t object. Factorization and pizza and Sasuke’s smile. 2x 4 \+ 4x2 = 2x2 (x2 \+ 2) Naruto was a jerk and Sakura was stupid. Then, they had talked about their lives. Itachi told him he loved him; that Sasuke needed to recognize his big brother’s flaws as a person, that he wasn’t perfect. That he was proud of him.  
  


_  
Day ten._  
  
Was he ever going to see his family again?   
  
_  
Day eleven._  
  
Nightmares had progressed enough to leave him on the floor with his heart pounding and a delirious sensation of death.   
  
  
_Day twelve._    
  
_Satomi Fumihiko_ , that’s what Shisui had told him. But he shouldn't think about her. Itachi threw her away from his life; now he couldn’t object. He was better away.  
  


  
_Day thirteen._  
  
Maybe Sasuke would forget about him too. He had been trapped in this hospital for almost two weeks and no one had come to visit him. Not even Madara appeared.   


  
  
_Day fourteen._  
  
If he desired to, Itachi would have left the hospital; but the intense headaches had become a self-punishment. He was so happy and content and carefree while driving that he almost had hurt Sasuke. That final measure, the turning of the car wheel had been a conscious decision. His life for Sasuke’s, his sight for Sasuke’s. But now he was useless —another part of the martyring—, and Itachi had dared, in his desolated state, to get close to Satomi.   
  
He wished she hadn’t cried. He wished she could forget about him.  
  


  
_Day sixteen._  
  
While trying to eat his food, Itachi heard a piano. Swift fingers and sweet notes.  Light reflecting in water while a paper boat drifted away with the stream. And he knew she was there, in the cafeteria, playing for him. That made him happy. It was a selfish thought. Itachi followed the water flowing and the arpeggios and the soft pulling of his ribs. Then, someone kissed his front. It was her. And he imagined Satomi in her toes, trying to get to his head, her hair sprawled around the piano—but it wasn’t that long—. And she pronounced again the very old words: _are you happy now?_ He liked her voice. We can leave now. We can live now. I love you.  
  
And the piano kept playing, alone.  
  
And she hated him.  
  
And he was just dreaming awake.  
  


  
_Day seventeen._  
  
Orochimaru augmented his dose again.  
  


  
_Day sixteen._  
   
_Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains._ What resonated with him weren’t the words, but the touch of a nail scarring his neck. Pound. Pound. Pound. It hurt. He was delirious. Given the chance, he would have asked for a violin instead of a piano. Easier to move. Easier to cringe. Black and white, black and white and an instrument made of ivory, the key of the bourgeois. He was a bourgeois. Wasn’t Obito’s menace too feeble? What’s money but a paper? Mikoto and Fugaku were going to die, anyway. All that was left was what? Peace? Peace doesn’t matter when there isn’t war. Anxiety was nibbling his esophagus: food is useless when you are going to die. There wasn’t more to do than think. And everything became fast when there wasn’t any light to compete with. Today, he didn’t have enough strength to carry logic.   
  


_  
Day sixteen._  
  
They said he was getting better.  
  
  
_Day…?_  
  
Time is as weak as autumn leaves. So are names.  So is life.


	19. Chapter 19

“Uchiha-san, wake up.”

Kabuto took him to the cafeteria and put in front of him a plate of scrambled eggs. Disgusting. With fork in hand and the bile already rising, he swallowed. 

He swallowed the sour tea.

He swallowed the mutilating pill.

His chest ached and he got back in the room. A snake moving around his mattress. So many days had gone by, and all that he knew was that the cold had become sharper and sharper. They had given him a sweater. However, the change in the weather was insignificant against the hands that drown him every night, the pipelines twisting in the ceiling, the heartburns, and the humid, serpentine screams his intern companions expired at night.

With a deep sigh, he fooled the chest pain for some seconds.

All his nightmares started with a milky, creamy, white light. Then the dry lungs, then the flowers tearing up his veins, then complete darkness and a writhing stomach. His circadian rhythm fluttered between sleepless nights plagued with a vague discomfort, and days of eternal, blank sleep. 

And he remembered his family and hoped they were happy and asked for forgiveness for letting the coarse incidents control him. Now he couldn’t protect Sasuke of the pressure. He couldn’t live the life he was assigned to live, or the life he wanted to live. He was dead. They took him to the cafeteria, he swallowed.

On First grade, the teacher asked every kid in class what they wanted to be when older. A ballerina, a policeman, a fireman, a chef, the Hokage. But when it was his turn, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to save lives, to save souls. Make the world a better place. In another life, little Itachi would have grown up to be a doctor. But the aspiration dried quickly. Choices are influenced by different people and different circumstances. Grown up Itachi didn’t want success, just a simple life, a family. 

He, the man lying on a hard, cold bed, didn’t want anything. 

Eat.     

Swallow.

Sleep.

“Itachi-chan, wake up!”

The door knocked against the wall brutally. Loud steps echoed in the small room. A hand stripped him from the cold blanket.  

At first, he couldn’t remember whose voice was it. Long talks about dreams and playful jostling resonated in his skull. 

“Shisui?”

After so much time with his throat sealed, the vibration lacerated his larynx. His cousin’s name sounded far away and strange, even when pronounced with Itachi’s own mouth. 

“You look awful.”

A long, heavy silence followed his cousin’s words.

He was still too confused ―for the sudden intrusion and the high doses of sedatives― to respond. Itachi got up and sat on the bed. He still had enough consciousness to know he wasn’t delirious.  The most logical step was asking him what he was doing in the ward, but words were tangled in his sore throat and all he managed to give was a blank expression. 

“I can’t let your mother see you like that,” Shisui said with a softer voice, “take a shower.”  
He followed the instructions. Itachi left the bed and made his way to the small bathroom. After a little time trying to orientate himself in the closed space, so different from the room, Itachi opened the faucet and let the cold water run on his back. 

He didn't care about his physical appearance. Trapped in an eternal solipsism barely perturbed by Kabuto’s calls and Orochimaru’s mocking, letting his dark circles grow and his hair tangle, were the easiest of tasks. The generic soap the ward provided had an unpleasant smell he couldn’t determine, however, the cleaning tool also served to wash his hair. The cold relieved his aching chest.  He spent another ten minutes in the shower, his body split off between fear and the pleasantness of cold water dancing in his skin. 

Then he searched with his hand for a towel. There wasn’t any. Getting out completely wet was unimaginable; his voice still hurt his ears. Itachi stayed in the shower cabin, waiting for something to happen.

Shisui entered five minutes after the water stopped running. Itachi dripped water while sitting on the toilet with an anguished expression.

I want to die. 

“Towel.”

Completely naked, he listened with almost disinterest to his cousin’s voice. He was too tired and dazed to feel any shame. He received the garment and started to dry himself. The towel felt too coarse against his skin. After the accident, Shisui had spent several days making jokes in the medium care unit; but now he stayed silent, as if afraid of waking Itachi of his doze.   
The bathroom was too small for both of them, Shisui stayed against the doorframe, supervising his actions.  Itachi handed him the wet cloth. 

Itachi remembered when Sasuke and he bathed together, their mother laughing and sprinkling water to the two. 

“Clothes.”

Shisui passed every garment slowly, waiting for Itachi to put it on before continuing. In his sedated consciousness, Itachi understood the pity show that laid behind the slow, clumsy way he executed his actions; but the fog was too wide. After he had his undergarments and the hospital scrubs on, Shisui gave him a sweater and helped him out of the bathroom. 

“Sit down; I’ll comb your hair.”

Of all the different considerations Shisui had given him, this one rendered itself as the most embarrassing of all. With all the inexperience of someone with short hair, his cousin started from the roots, augmenting Itachi’s eternal headache. 

“Start from the tips.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself, Itachi-chan?”

“I can’t.”

A thick silence intercalated with the sound the bristles of the comb made when touching his scalp.   
Shisui tied his hair in the characteristic loose ponytail and sighed.

“Well, I hope you can fake a better face for your mother.”

“Is she here?”

“At least now you are talking…”

The comment, blurted like a joke, was followed by Itachi’s serious face. A little more sense of reality was entering into him. He was still tired and dazed, but he understood that his cousin was taking him to the visits room and that he was going to talk with his family again after almost a month.

Shisui was right; he had to fake a more uptight appearance. He didn’t want to disturb more his concerned mother. 

While turning around in the infinite hallways, a question struck him. Why were they here? How had they found him? Who had let them in? He would ask Shisui later.

Mikoto’s scream was heard across the entire room. A few adventurous visitants exhaled a shhh after she pronounced that loud Itachi.  Sasuke, who was trying to hide his anxiousness in his phone, looked at the door and found his brother led by Shisui into the table, the under-eye circles deeper and blacker than ever; his frame smaller and weaker than after the accident. However, Itachi was smiling. Fugaku frowned.

While his cousin searched for another chair, Itachi sat and breathed in that longed familiar air. When his mother got out of the stupor, the questioning started.

“Tachi, you are so thin.”

His mother grabbed his arm and palpated him through the sweater. 

“Are you eating? What are they giving you?”

Eating had become a dreaded duty. Nausea started with the smell and continued for hours after he had swallowed. He was just eating what was necessary to live, one didn’t waste lots of energy sleeping.

“Here, have some dango. They said you can only eat these during the visit.”

All the phrases had come at a rapid pace, too fast for Itachi’s mind to process an answer. Itachi received the food and took the first ball to his mouth. The rice didn’t have taste, and the texture made him nauseous, but he chewed and swallowed with the best smile he could fake.   
The voices around him incremented and disappeared in a strange tune. He longed for his bed and the silence of his reclusion. 

“Shisui spent a lot of time bringing you here,” Fugaku commented when said man appeared with an extra chair.

“When I got into his room, Itachi was taking a shower.”

And he was grateful for the lie.

“What’s important is that now Tachi is with us and we can spend some time with our son,” Mikoto quarreled his husband.

Sasuke was quiet. Itachi knew he was there for the agitated breathing on his right. 

“We have missed you so much, Tachi…”

“I have missed you too.”

He managed to give his voice a natural tone; however, the pain in his throat remained.

“The home feels so empty now that no one is there ever.  Sasuke keeps working really hard and Fugaku stays for days in the office. I wish you could stay with us.”

“What have you been doing here, anyway,” Fugaku asked without changing his intonation at the end of the question and ignoring the small tirade of his wife. 

“There are support groups.”

That he hadn’t used.

“Sounds useless,” Fugaku retorted, and although the sentence seemed cruel and inadequate, Itachi knew he didn’t refer to him, “My son doesn’t need any support group.”  
He didn’t. However, after so many days trapped in the ward, Itachi started thinking he was losing his mind.

“There isn’t much to do.”

He finished the last piece of dango. 

“Then you are very lucky because we brought you books!”

He received the package from his mother. Itachi wasn’t sure he would have the strength to read, but the gesture was beautiful.

“Sasuke chose them,” his mother continued, “some of them are new and some are from your library.”

“Thank you,” he said while poking his little brother front. Even in his present state, the action seemed easy; finding his brother’s front was a subconscious gesture. 

“I asked for help. I didn’t know what you would like.”

Listening to his little brother voice after so many days drew a real smile on his face. However, he didn’t like the opaque tone. He wished there was a time to talk to him.

“I’m also taking care of your fish,” Sasuke said in an impetuous way.

“Then he is in good hands.”

“I guess now Sasuke can also be Doctor Fish,” Shisui intervened, making allusion to the Dr. Snake's joke.

That reminded him of Satomi. He was too afraid to ask about her. There were some forced laughs and then a heavy silence.

“I think Itachi would love to hear the Naruto story, why don’t you tell him, Sasuke,” Mikoto said in a peppy tone.

“It’s stupid. Itachi doesn’t care.”

“C’mon little jerk, don’t be a party pooper, tell Itachi-chan about it.”

Nevertheless, when his little brother began telling the story, a nurse approached them and told them the visiting time was over. 

 “So soon…” His mother complained.

“Next time we’ll have to come earlier,” Fugaku said, trying to calm the gloomy air that had appeared.

“Tachi, we brought you clothes,” Mikoto said while passing him a bag, “and also some hygiene products.”

They stood up and his mother hugged him. In the embrace, Itachi could feel the warm tears staining his sweater.

“I love you, my little Tachi.”

His father’s farewell was a simple we’ll come again. However, Itachi understood all the unsaid words that were behind those three words.

Sasuke whispered a niisan, in the same upset fashion he had talked before. 

“Goodbye, Sasuke.”

“Bye.”

He didn’t want to bid farewell to his brother. Itachi wished to talk to him and laugh about his stories and give him the best advice he could conjure.

“Now that we have all said goodbye, I’ll take Itachi-chan to his room.”

Shisui took his hand and helped him with the different bags. 

Some seconds after trespassing the room's door, Itachi finally asked what he had on his mind from the beginning of the visit.

“How did you find me?”

The question seemed strange and ungrateful, but Shisui understood. When Madara had threatened them with taking Itachi away, letting them visit him seemed impossible.   
“Madara told us the place, it would have been kidnapping if he hadn’t. You know he is no idiot.”   
Leaving the room and finding silence outside perturbed Itachi’s senses.

“The difficult part was getting permission for visiting. They said you weren’t in conditions. But I finally got in.”

“Thank you.”

Shisui put the books in a corner of the floor and the clothes inside a cabinet in the small bathroom.  
“Try not looking like a corpse next time we come.”

 “I’m not sick, Shisui.”

“I’m trying to get you out, Itachi. I’ll find a way.”


	20. Chapter 20

Itachi followed the dots with the palm of his hand. A lingering feeling of tiredness was resonating in his skull; however, any Sasuke’s present was well received. His little brother had brought his Rousseau's book ―Man is in chains everywhere―, some of Satomi’s gifts, which he had relegated to a corner in search for oblivion, and three books of short stories written by a man called Haruki Murakami. He hadn’t read anything yet, too tired of being functional and too mesmerized with the braille in the cover.

The different memories of Satomi’s intervention in his life beckoned him. Itachi smelled the odorous soaps, she had bought on their first date, accusing him from the shelf in the small bathroom. The books kept whispering his inclemency from their dusty corner. But this was the right path. He couldn’t drive away his family from the destiny life had given him, but Itachi could eliminate the pain for everybody else. Even if the visit of his family had improved his state in the ward, he knew how problematic was for all having to stop their lives to help him.

In little time, he was asleep. Those pills were merciless, even when Itachi had finally grasped most of his consciousness again.  Wake up. Eat. Swallow.

Sometimes, he heard cracked sobbing creeping up to the walls, everything engulfed in the cracking of the pipes. Then, he wondered where he was. The existence of other hearts, that ached as much as his did tortured him. His ears torn apart by cries of help. Once, he had hoped to be a doctor. Then, he would have saved lives. Now, he didn’t know how to breathe. It was selfish, egotistical: he should be taking care of his family, of others; instead, they had to take care of him.  Sometimes, Itachi imagined how life would be if he was dead. He felt happy when they visited him, and his lungs hurt less and he was filled with warmth; but he was afraid and empty, and it was corroding those he loved.  He knew his mother cried at home; running tears, flushed face and Fugaku’s hand on the shoulder.

It was an act of compassion and mercy.

But then, everything disappeared, and Itachi couldn’t move, and he felt himself trapped in his body, and every thought of death was transformed into apathy for life.

In the middle of his monotonous and dull life, any change was extraordinary, that’s why Itachi was surprised when Orochimaru took him out of his room and guided him to his office. He commanded him to sit. It wasn’t hard to know who was visiting him. All the ceremony wouldn’t be necessary for any other of his family members. After some minutes of hushed talking, the psychiatrist left the room.

Madara moved around the room with repugnance, although everything was kept clean and tidy and the place was almost empty, the ward just tarnished every object with a saltpeter-like substance.  Itachi heard the exasperated sighs in complete silence, waiting for the slow steps of the elder to stop. He remembered what great impression Madara had caused when he was just a kid; with his long hair still contrasting some of the ―now lost― luscious black with a snowy white, the old man had walked around the house’s living room in an energetic, imposing manner; his eyes mesmerizingly black looked at Itachi’s small body and silently pronounced a you are a genius, but too weak. Those unpronounced words had started an eternal battle between Itachi’s desires and duties.

“I’ve never like you.”

The pronoun was almost spat. Itachi wasn’t going to retort, he didn’t want to. Enduring the patriarch’s rant seemed more prudent.

“You always were proficient in every task, and if you weren’t you practiced until you had it dominated. But you aren’t like the rest of the Uchiha, Itachi. You have the pride, but not the ambition.”

Madara’s voice had conserved the firmness and strength. It wasn’t difficult to believe that he was still an important authority.

“You are weak, you always hated the violence of the police and the violence of business. This, Itachi, was just a natural consequence.”

 “My uncle wasn’t a part of the family’s businesses, none of them. He has a bakery.”

“The difference is you had potential.”

Madara played with what sounded like a pen, making his whole presence somehow as imposing as Itachi found it as a kid.

“People are usually born with their destiny already arranged, Itachi. You malformed yours. ”

“I didn’t decide this.”

“We both know you are guiltier than destiny,” Madara stated with complete certainty.

After a moment of silence, the old man sighed and started walking to the door.

“Anyway, Itachi, you are better here than outside.”

* * *

Madara’s visit, which was most than certainly triggered by Shisui’s search for information, was just the beginning of a busy week. The isolation that had numbed him was slowly drifting away as his vocal chords acquired the old strength. Although he found himself sailing to a white state of mind after the visitants left, he valued the return of that part of himself which had been buried after a month alone in the ward.

Sasuke had managed to get into his room. Itachi liked it better this way; Itachi didn’t stand the ambiance of the visiting room. His little brother had brought more books and sweets. Itachi couldn’t enjoy any, yet, but Sasuke's company was better than any other gift.

For respect, Itachi ate one stick of dango.  Sasuke, like Madara, wandered around the room.  He was anxious. Itachi wanted to talk about work and Naruto and Sakura and about life, but just when he managed to start the topic, Sasuke became silent.

“Is anything wrong, Sasuke?”

 

Itachi stayed seated on the bed, waiting for his little brother to calm down.

“It’s all my fault.”

This angered Itachi. Sasuke wasn’t guilty of anything. He didn’t want his brother to spend the rest of his life regretting something he didn’t have any relation with. At the end, it was Itachi’s own fault. Being here, as Madara has said, was his penalty for trying to escape life.

“We have already talked about this, Sasuke.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me.”

“I wanted to go.”

“I made you lose your attention.”

“Danzo would have hit us anyway.”

“Then I should have been the one hit.”

“No.”

“You moved the car.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“If I was blind, Madara wouldn’t be angry and you would be at home.”

Itachi didn't respond. A light burn was starting to infect his vocal chords.

“I’m already useless, Itachi, it would be the same.”

“Is this for father’s opinions?”

“No. I just know you are better than me.”

“I don’t want you to believe that.” Itachi stood up, trying to find his little brother in the symphony of steps and huffs. “Being the best is not always good, Sasuke.”

“You don’t understand!”

The yell resonated against the walls of the tiny room. However, more important that Sasuke’s typical burst was the silence that followed. The atmosphere suddenly became heavy.  Itachi smacked the hard air while searching for his brother in the small space. No noise was heard; for the first time in the ward, the hallways were completely quiet.

“Sasuke.”

“Nii-san.”

He found his little brother facing a wall, covering his face with his hands. 

“It’s not your fault.” Itachi’s voice was gentler and sweeter than usual. His little brother wasn’t guilty of anything. “I love you.”

“We are leaving this place. Now.”

If Sasuke’s front wasn’t covered, it would have earned a poke. Instead, Itachi leaned against the wall, ignoring the disgust the humidity caused him.

“Sorry Sasuke, maybe another time.”

A sad smile appeared on his face.

Sasuke sat on his bed. Itachi followed him.

“I’m resigning Uchiha corp.”

“It was your dream since you were ten.”

“I hate Madara.”

Itachi laughed, his little brother was so cute. He imagined him with that pout he always wore when a child.

“He is ninety. Madara doesn’t need your hate.”

A nurse entered the room. The interview had finished.  Sasuke hugged him. His brother hadn’t started an embrace in several years. That only meant suffering.

“Everything will be fine, Sasuke.”

* * *

“Wake up, Itachi-san.”

He didn’t eat the whole meal, as usual. The pill hurt his throat, as usual.

The thought of Sasuke being the one to endure this angered him. Sasuke’s pain was his pain.

After both visits, there was something clear in the middle of the foggy situation. Madara was mad or something more than his blindness. Another Uchiha wouldn’t have angered the patriarch to such extents. His own personality was at fault, and Itachi couldn’t object to that.

Itachi laid on the bed and fell asleep, as he had done all these weeks. A light pressure on his chest unveiled his anxiety. His heartbeat drowned any noise from the hallways.

“Itachi! Wake up!”

The crash of the door against the wall resonated in the small room.

Shisui.

“Please stop screaming.”

The sudden noise had started a light headache.

“What? Look at you!

Itachi incorporated himself while pressing the back of his head, in a desperate measure to stop the pain.

“I can’t.”

“Don’t start with that.”

“Now, leave that bed and go take a shower.”

“Why?”

Nor Sasuke nor Madara had commented about his appearance.

There wasn’t an answer. Before he knew, his cousin had shoved him inside the bathroom with a towel and clean clothes.

“Don’t stay here.”

“Yes, yes. Try not crying like a baby.”

Shisui closed the door.

His head thanked the cold water. But after that smell touched his nose, the pain reappeared stronger than before.

This soap was made of first kisses and pasta and good intentions.

Itachi washed the scent away as fast as he could, dressed, and left the bathroom, stained with her sighs.

“This is her soap.”

“Wow, so you hadn’t showered since last time.”

“I hate the smell.”

“Don’t fool yourself, or me.”

“I felt pity.”

“The one thing that angers me the most is your decision of burying life.”

“What life, Shisui. Satomi?”

There wasn’t more.

“Satomi is better than this cave.”

“I don’t care about her.”

“I know when you care about a girl, Itachi. This isn’t like Izumi.”

Before Satomi, there had been a girl. Izumi-san. Though conserving the surname, the familial bonds between her and Itachi’s family were inexistent. He didn’t have any interest in her apart from a feeble idea of protection. Izumi always seemed too good, too naïve for the world around them. He had met her in primary school, she insisted on following around and help him to make friends. However, she had disappeared from his life until high-school. In the middle of his busy life, she confessed. Itachi-san, I’m in love with you. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t love her. In a vow to defend her innocence from himself, he started dating her. Holding hands and no kissing, sharing bento and walking her to classes. After a week she understood. Remembering now was useless. Still, his feelings were limited to a vague desire for her happiness. Her importance in his actual situation was useless. But remembering her was better than thinking about Satomi.

“Don’t tell her anything.”

“Whatever, I didn’t come to give you a lecture.” Shisui moved around the small room before sitting in the bed. “What did Madara want?”

“When did you get a spy?”

“I’m good at my job.”

“He did come to give me a sermon.”

“Itachi, I think the old man is sick.”

“Maybe Sasuke is poisoning him.”

“Don’t be silly, Itachi-chan.”

“Even if he dies and I go home, I’m still blind. Nothing will change, Shisui.”

“Maybe then you’ll start acting like a good boyfriend.”

“Please, Shisui.”

His ears kept whistling.

Any conversation ended right there. Itachi was drained, he didn’t have the energy to continue that silly dialogue. But the sole presence of his friend in the room somehow comforted him. The atmosphere transformed in milk, in that white tranquility, only Shisui could give.


	21. Chapter 21

And the creamy state continued, and sleep became liquid, and the thoughts spilled in his mind. Sometimes, when laying down, he could hear his heartbeat. He could feel his hands slightly throbbing. Life was hard, futile. He wasn’t afraid of death. He just wanted happiness to those around him. Itachi just wanted others to live.

He walked without aim across the hallways, the cold air nailed his lungs down, but his skin was burning. The tip of his fingers followed an invisible line on the walls. The slimy humidity of the building was slowly sullying his whole hand.  He hadn’t cared about this before the accident. Although his life was in service of others, the void didn’t exist. Now, his whole existence seemed useless. Why do we live? Any answer seemed incomplete, all that he had was Sasuke. What is a man without the others? But hell is others. And Satomi was crying in her room —the only consolation a giant bear—, because he was hell. And Sasuke was falling asleep on a hard desk, a mug of bitter coffee trying to revive his mind.

Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Sleep. 

Shisui was desperate to take him out. But the world had been colorless for a long time. Madara was right. He didn’t belong outside, he never did.

He wasn’t afraid of death. That separated him from the rest. Dying, the blank space after life, it didn’t affect him. But his hands trembling and the dull, putrid sound of his heart in his eardrums tortured him. His body was tense, his nerves torn apart. He was lying the bed; the stone-like mattress not enough to hide the metallic structure that held it. Itachi’s nose was cold, his fingers were numb. And his stomach sank into nothingness. He couldn’t stand it.

Itachi got up. Sasuke would ask about the books when he came back, he didn’t want to worry his family more. In three steps he was already in front of the small table, his right hand grazing the wall. Itachi took the first book his hands touched. The page, texture, weight, weren’t important. He sat on the floor, legs crossed and back straight. He was going to ignore the weight of his nerves. Just a rest. No more thinking. A silent heart and a still face. He concentrated on understanding the dots. His breathing, artificial. Chapter IV.  M. Madeleine in Mourning.1

His reading continued until the burning in his hands was unbearable: the small protuberances, when grazed, tore apart his already inflamed nerves. Fingers, even with the solace of the raised dots, which hide the tingling and numbness, still felt rigid. 

A sigh.

The book was forgotten in a corner of the room. 

He laid in bed, the mattress creaked almost inaudibly. The rain hit against the roof and the wall on his right resonated thanks to the water jumping around the pipes. Itachi let his whole weight calm his hands, crushing them between his chest and the bed. The pressure developed into pain. 

With eyes closed, he waited for the effect of any of the sedatives to work. His breathing imitated the creamy calm Shisui had brought. He imagined the soft, white fur of a rabbit. His skin could almost feel the warmth. Feathers and a caress. Air twirled in his lungs. Velvet, the bubbles made by Re. His nose defrosted under the blanket. Cheeks touching, lips grazing. Her eyelashes slightly scratching his flesh. Then, slumber.

He had a nightmare. 

That wasn’t a novelty. Scarring dreams came most of the time, he’d had them since the accident. Itachi had gotten accustomed to them. When they seemed familiar, he greeted them and waited, and let the pain cover his bones and let the thick blackness drown him. If they were unknown, he picked up the daisies and felt his skin flay and hoped for the nausea of consciousness. Nevertheless, he had never seen her in one of his nightmares.

Itachi remembered every last bit of it when he woke up. It contrasted with that other dream, the one that brought feathers to his stomach and warmth to his fingers. This one was sharp, it had the smell of bile and temperature of scolding water. She was there, instead of him; and she hated him, and every note she played on the piano was out of key.

In his dream, Itachi woke up to sunlight percolating through his windows’ curtains. The room was tinted in gold. Small particles danced in the rays of light, until they fell in his dark-wood night-table, near Re’s bowl. The bubbles of his fish had become silent: instead, his iridescent scales flickered against light and water. He got up, no wood touched his feet, but small bubbles left his pet’s mouth and circled and jumped in the water until they disappeared in the surface. He fed Re. No texture stuck in his fingertips, no tingles from the granulated food; but it shined like copper. The reddish-brown grains fell into the water, becoming softer and softer in the liquid until the fish ate them. 

He drove to the Psychiatric ward. He grabbed the wheel, but no pressure was applied to his palm. The window was open; still, no wind touched his face. In the way, green trees and kaleidoscopic windows. Silence engulfed the car engine, his breathing, the air, and even the radio.   When he got there, everything was white: objects barely outlined by gray. And it felt like floating in nothingness. The feeling was slowly opening a gap in his chest. He walked. And Itachi didn’t move. The whiteness stayed the same. And he walked without perceiving the floor, nor the furniture nor his own limbs. 

Then, he saw her eyes. The blue, dull. Pupils dilated and directed at nowhere. She was thin and suffering and her fingers were deformed.  When Itachi turned around, he saw a piano. Black. Monstrous in the whiteness. The keys were moving alone: pressure dug then into the instrument’s wood, and with a little jump they resurfaced again. But every note was distorted, similar to screams. And her heartbeat wasn’t silent, and her breathing grew and grew, eating all the room.  And Satomi was crying. Tears green. 

When he woke up, the first thing he felt was an acidic liquid running in his throat. Itachi barely got to the bathroom before vomiting.  
What did he feel for her? Did he love her? For a while, she had been his support, his rock, a thread that united him with life. Itachi regretted it. There was something selfish in each one of his decisions, still, he missed her. Maybe, if he had been more responsible, if he had been firmer, sterner, then he wouldn´t have hurt her. She had tried to hide her wound behind a low-pitched voice. She had hung up. And Itachi wondered what was of her father. Was he a bad man? But he couldn’t protect her now. He couldn’t love her. 

* * *

“Itachi-san, you have a visit.”

Kabuto entered to his room at the same time he knocked the door. He was getting used to visits. After his family got the permission to go to the ward, at least someone had come to accompany him every day. If it was Shisui, Itachi was going to get scolded for not taking a shower; however, he wasn't in the mood.

Today, the hallways appeared eternal, extending and extending much more than they ever had. He hadn't wanted to leave his room. It was strange how the visit, which was probably Shisui, had preferred to be in the Visit room, at which Itachi had already declared his hate.

“Good afternoon.”

_Let us remark by the way, that to be blind and to be loved, is, in fact, one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness upon this earth, where nothing is complete._

A long silence responded him. 

“Hello.”

This was the first time she didn’t sing the salutation.

_To have continually at one's side a woman, a daughter, a sister, a charming being, who is there because you need her and because she cannot do without you; to know that we are indispensable to a person who is necessary to us; to be able to incessantly measure one's affection by the amount of her presence which she bestows on us..._

 “What are you doing here?”

He used that sharp monotone his mask had perfected. The strength of the vibrations hurt his sore throat.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 _To be able to verify the fidelity of one being amid the eclipse of the world; to regard the rustle of a gown as the sound of wings; to hear her come and go, retire, speak, return, sing, and to think that one is the centre of these steps, of this speech; to manifest at each instant one's personal attraction; to feel one's self all the more powerful because of one's infirmity; to become in one's obscurity, and through one's obscurity, the star around which this angel gravitates,_ — _few felicities equal this._

She shouldn’t care about him. All this pantomime had as an objective taking her away from his life. Because he was being selfish and self-centered and silly for letting her stay at his side. She deserved a complete world, where her lover could tell her how beautiful she was and admire her and protect her. But he had been so obsessed with her as his new opportunity that any thought that would take Satomi of his life had been repressed. 

_Soul seeks soul, gropingly, and finds it. And this soul, found and tested, is a woman. A hand sustains you; it is hers: a mouth lightly touches your brow; it is her mouth: you hear a breath very near you; it is hers._

The leg of the metal chair scraped the floor. 

_One would not exchange that shadow for all brightness! The angel soul is there, uninterruptedly there; if she departs, it is but to return again; she vanishes like a dream, and reappears like reality. One feels warmth approaching, and behold! She is there._

She left.

 _And there are a thousand little cares. Nothings, which are enormous in that void. The most ineffable accents of the feminine voice employed to lull you, and supplying the vanished universe to you. One is caressed with the soul. One sees nothing, but one feels that one is adored._ _It is a paradise of shadows._

Sometimes, he wondered if he would have met her in different circumstances. Someday, he would have some free time after a business meeting, and then, he’ll go to her library. Hands touching the spines, eyes glancing the titles, he searched for the philosophy section. He wouldn’t have time to read, but he had a whim and bought a book. She was the cashier. This time, there was no need of nonsensical conversations or arm grabbing. He would hand the book, and then, the money. She would smile, her auburn hair tied in a bun, her blue eyes blurred behind a wall of shyness.

And he’d come back again. And they’ll talk about books. Itachi would have asked her for a date after he attended to one of her concerts: her blue dress swaying around, hands barely touching the keys, her face tensed in pure concentration. He brought her white flowers: roses, lilies or jasmines. And she had accepted, a blush extending across her cheeks.

Their first date would have been in a restaurant. Satomi was in a red dress, her eyes smiled. Her face wore a light blush as she talked about music, Itachi would have been mesmerized by her gestures. He would have kissed her. And then, they entered in his car, and he took her home, talking about a past that didn’t matter anymore. A silver necklace hiding in his pocket. 

She seemed flustered every time he took her to a business dinner. They are boring, Itachi will mutter against her ear while they listened to a CEO talk about the enterprise. Then, she giggled and pretended with him. A night full of complicit smiles. And then they would leave, and she would hum a song. A drive to the Naka River: from the port, they would see the lights of the city reflected against the water. Her hand tangled in his. Itachi, I think I’m in love with you. He would look at her, her gaze fixated in the river, lights dancing in her eyes, her skin pink. Satomi, I love you.

He would have married her in spring. Flowers all around the temple, the ground wet with dew. She was wearing a red and white kimono, her petite head covered with the paper hat. And they smiled after every sip of sake. In the party, while he was talking with Shisui, he found her laughing alongside Sasuke. Mikoto cried in happiness as they left the reception.

Satomi would hold hard his hand as she pushed. The white walls of the hospital beamed in an almost hypnotizing fashion. A cry, a sigh. A little girl was in his wife’s arms, big eyes looking at him. She was small, really small, and fragile. Itachi would have sworn to protect her from anything. Satomi giggled in the background as a tear fell from his eyes. 

And then, her first steps. The first word his daughter would say was papa. Satomi’s piano classes. A daughter dressed for a concert. And he loved them. And time would pass, Satomi’s hand would always be warm and soft, his daughter smile imprinted in his skin. Wrinkles and white hairs and tiredness accumulating in his back. Her piano in the background, A Sigh. Warm farewells and warm kisses and her fingers tracing circles in his forehead. 

But thinking about it was useless. Those circumstances didn’t exist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of italics are from Victor Hugo's Les Misérables. Because who doesn't love nerdy intertextuality?


	22. Chapter 22

Itachi woke up to his head throbbing. The ache originated in the lower back of his skull and extended to the rest of his head. His ears buzzed and an imaginary weight was pressed against his eyes. Facing the ceiling and still lying in bed, he felt his whole body tremble. The air was cold; a blanket wasn’t enough to cover him. The room smelled like dirt and humidity and rust. He couldn’t think. Every noise in the hallway crushed against his head. He just stayed there, concentrating on his breathing and waiting for the pain to subside.

He was in the same position when Kabuto entered the room. Time had passed; seconds tearing him down at the rhythm of her chair scraping the floor.

“Itachi-san, I’m glad you are awake. Breakfast is ready.”

The nurse’s voice was too loud. He incorporated. Nausea hit him when his feet touched the floor.

“I have a headache.”

In other circumstances, he would have hidden the fact. But right now, Itachi wanted the slumber of medicines. He didn’t want to think.

“Oh, is that so? They'll give you something in the Med-window. But breakfast comes first.” Kabuto’s tone had traces of venom, it reminded him of Orochimaru.

Itachi pressed his right hand against the source of his headache, then, he counted the one hundred steps that took him to the cafeteria. Often, his left hand grazed the hallway’s walls, letting the fingers act as his vision.

For the first time since he entered the ward, he wondered who the other inmates were, who had Satomi seen when she had visited him? Where they dangerous? Maybe he was putting his family at risk by letting them come. His questions were only answered by the murmurs he heard whilst passing the rooms and the rising noise of the cafeteria.

He ignored the throbbing and waited for a nurse to take him to a seat. He was given his breakfast. Itachi wasn’t hungry, but he managed to eat all his food in little bites; a pang of pain pierced his head as he masticated. Bile started to build in his throat. He finished, got up, and waited for someone to take him to the Med-window. Itachi received three pills and a glass of water. He swallowed and walked back to his room.

Sedatives and analgesics rapidly produced an effect: Itachi felt his body transform into wind. Floating in a cloud, he found himself waiting for Satomi to come again. He wanted a savior. It was silly, but love conquered all. Love was the end and the beginning of the whole universe. There was strength in love, in loving her, in ignoring how badly his head hurt so he could imagine her hair grazing the piano keys. It was foolish. Leaving her behind had been the best decision. Itachi had come to care for her as he cared for the rest of his family. He wanted her to be happy and to live a long, prosper life. He didn’t fit in his desires. He was sick. Then, why a part of him was content she had visited him? Eyelids closed, eyelashes tangling, eyes resting, vision white. Itachi didn’t know how many times he had repeated the same words, but he had to punish himself. He should have been more prudent, leave her out of everything. But he was selfish. The only way to protect her was to drive her away.

Itachi didn’t know if he had slept. Hours passed rapidly, and in little time, he was again walking in the corridors. Fortunately, the headache had receded. Now, he only had to bear with the usual drowsiness the pills generated. Again, he slowly ate his food, trying to deceive his body with the small bites. Nurses continued with their constant scribbling and inmates blatantly tried to ignore him. He took his midday pills and went back to his room. The TV was turned on in the Day Room, a movie was the background of desperation and pain.

He laid back in bed. Forearm against his eyes, applying pressure. He recalled his first day of school. His mother left him in the door of his class with teary eyes. _Be good, Itachi. I’ll come for you in the afternoon._ He didn’t talk: he spent recess looking at everybody else. He didn’t play: the faster the day was over, the faster he’ll go back to his house, to Sasuke. His little brother was already walking; he liked to stumble towards Itachi with a dinosaur toy in his hands, wobbly legs getting his brother closer to him with every little step, a giggle showing his little tooth. All his teachers praised him, his asocial habits never emerged in the Parents-Teacher conference. He wondered how Satomi’s infancy had been, had she been alone being homeschooled? They had talked so much, and yet, there was so much about her he didn’t know. And he shouldn’t be thinking about her, but content was mixed with guilt every time he remembered she had come to visit him. Some part of him waited for her to come again.

Anxiety threw him out of bed. He found himself in the shower, cold water stretching his limbs, her soap in his hand. A leafy smell engulfed the bathroom. Itachi ran his fingers through his hair, trying to undo the myriads of knots. If he didn’t want to catch a cold, he had to dry himself very well; maybe, with winter already touching the air, he should use the hot water. Pneumonia wasn’t that bad, was it? Either way, he felt better after washing himself.

The void in his stomach was bigger, hands shook and bones shivered; yet, he wanted to do something.

Kabuto found him reading. Itachi lifted his head in an automatic gesture.

“I do not wish to eat.”

“Itachi-san, it’s too early for dinner,” Kabuto spoke. The nurse’s voice was always tainted by a smirk. “You have a visit.”

He folded the upper corner of the page and closed the book.

“Who is it?”

“The same woman as yesterday. She was kind enough to bring you some blankets, you should go to thank her.” Itachi maintained an uninterested mask. Yet, his heart was pounding against his ribcage. “Still, I don’t think you have won the right to those.”

“Tell her to leave.”

“Itachi-san, I can’t do that.”

He stood up. Itachi ignored the excitement that was building in his hands and traversed the hallways in search of the Visits room. The mask tightly glued to his face.

This time, he didn’t greet. A dense atmosphere was already filling the room. She didn’t talk. His hands tingled, his neck hurt, his lungs stung. It was her. He maintained his face blank; an imposed rigidity masked his anxiety. Itachi absorbed the cacophony of the room and waited. A man to his right started crying.

“Hello.” Again, she didn’t sing. Instead, the salute was opaque, her voice desperately trying to hide the slight trembling. Nevertheless, the sound tasted like happiness, bubbles, dango, and pasta. _He couldn’t be selfish_.

He sat. Standing up was a better: he would impose and the visit would be significantly shortened. But something pulled him to the chair. _Don’t be selfish_. His face was rigid, eyes sharp; he couldn’t let the mask slide off his skin.

“Did Shisui tell you to come?” Itachi made the words as severe and stern as he could.

Shisui had. His cousin had little respect for his own decisions, especially after the accident. He always teamed with his mother, calling him stubborn and dragging him to situations Itachi didn’t wish to participate in.

The scent of chocolate grazed his nose, as well as the sound of paper being torn. An inmate laughed. An elder woman pronounced the word Xanax. The ringtone of a cell phone echoed in the room. Someone walked, feet heavy. Someone sighed, lungs heavy. A muted scream left the hallways. The pipes twitched, reverberating in the walls with a metallic din. All the noise was solidifying around him, surrounding him like foam. For another minute, Satomi remained silent.

“No. I-” She stopped mid-sentence. Itachi heard her sigh, although the noise in the room tried to drown it. “Shisui told me you were here, but I came because I wanted to.”

“And what do you want this time?” He retorted, without letting her words sink in the noised atmosphere.

“I just wanted to-”

“Last time you wanted to see me. What’s your excuse today?” He let the sentence run fast, indifference tinting every word.

He could almost see her: head low and back hunched, brows knitted, and face pale; her eyes bright and covered with a layer of tears. He could almost see himself: expressionless and back straight, clothes too big and damp, greasy hair; his eyes sharp, piercing, blank.

“You could have told me.” Tears finally left her eyes. _He couldn’t be_ -

Solving problems on his own, that was the last aspect he was willing to let go. How much did Satomi know?

“If you had told me you were depressed, I would have helped you.” Words wore that high pitch she used to cover tears, syllables were dragged and piled up. It sounded like a muffled shriek.

Help was useless. Life was too. One of the graces of work was he never had time to think about what he was doing. Now, with his days slipping away in sleep, every minute was filled with the same throbbing question. Why live a life? For a second, he imagined Madara died or decided to let him go outside; he was back with Satomi, and everything was concerts, kisses, and smiles. Still, he couldn’t see. Still, he was ready to die. Then, what was the difference? His only duty was protecting everybody else from this, from the nothingness. He wasn’t afraid of dying: he was afraid of everybody else’s death.

“Leave. You are wasting my time.”

 “Are you supposed to do something else? If you want to, I can move, surely I’m blocking your view!” She responded immediately. Bitterness dripping off her tongue. Still, it didn’t hurt him. Itachi stayed quiet. She should be staring at the table, hair covering eyes, eyes retaining tears, tears stinging. If he stood up and left, she would disappear. Then, why he felt paralyzed? “I’m sorry.”

She didn't have to apologize.

“I was playing with you. The faster you continue with your life, the less humiliating this will be for you”

“You deliberately tried to hurt me.”

A false smirk. When was the first time he had lied? Itachi didn’t remember. But it had become a crucial part of his life. He had lied to everybody. To his mother and father, to Shisui, to Sasuke, to Madara, to himself. They were protective lies. He lied about his health to calm his mother, about his work to appease his father, about his happiness to tranquilize Shisui, about his time to shelter Sasuke. About his decisions, about his abilities, about his happiness, about love, about himself. His mother used to say he cared more about others than about himself; sometimes it was a compliment, sometimes it was a reproach. Lying was the best way to keep everybody safe. Truth is selfish.

“You are a fool.”

“You are still trying to hurt me.” This time, her voice completely broke.

It was funny: one afternoon, surrounded by trees and rain and earth, he had sworn to dry every one of her tears.

Again, the leg of the chair rasped the floor. Her hands were on the table, the pressure made it shake. He concentrated on the ice crawling to his skin, on the humid room, on the noise, on the buzzing of his ears. She didn’t deserve to worry about him. She deserved to live her life away from his blankness. He wished Madara will finally kill him: the blow of a nurse in his neck or an overdose of soporific drugs.

“I still think I might be falling in love with you, Itachi.”


	23. Chapter 23

He still had hope. Itachi still wished everything would get better, he still let the softness of her hair imaginarily run through his fingers as he wondered if Tsunade would ever find a cure for cortical blindness. And she had come, tear-stained words and tensed nerves, to tell him that maybe she still loved him. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to drive her away: he still had hope.

However, as he followed his routine, he realized how lost he was. Sleep. Hallway. Eat. Medication. Where was Madara’s mercy kill?

His decision was made: Itachi had given up. He had the right. People loved to consume stories like his: a young genius with a bright future torn apart by the claws of destiny; in those stories, the young man fought, overcame every obstacle his new impediment could bring. But Itachi was tired of being considered extraordinary, he wasn’t —didn’t want to be— one of those examples. He just wanted to rest. His decision was made: Satomi and Sasuke deserved a complete life, she deserved a man capable of protecting and admiring, he deserved a true model, one that wasn’t trapped in a madhouse.

Itachi was at peace with his choice. Then, why the pain of his chest swelled? Why air tickled his lungs? Why did her words resonate in his head? Why did his mouth pleaded to have her name rolling out the tongue?

When Kabuto entered announcing a visit —Fuhimiko-san, he introduced—, Itachi stood up mechanically. His decision was made: if protecting her meant lying with a bitter tongue, bruising her soul, then, he would. Itachi didn't have to leave the room, she was waiting in the hallway.  After announcing her, Kabuto chanted the usual mantra that explained the visits' rules. Itachi could picture her: left shoulder leaning on the wall, eyes fixated on the floor, a dainty nod barely raising her head every time the nurse finished reciting a numeral. 

Itachi sat on the edge of the bed, perfecting the last details of his mask of apathy. The words of the eternal mantra filling the room, swelling and drinking air; most of them were transparent to his eardrums. In any second, they would be alone in the room. Then, he’ll drive her away.

He’ll drive her away.

_Visits finish at six o’clock. Don’t give him anything that wasn’t inspected in the reception._

A part of him feared his intentions wouldn’t survive if she cried. Her broken voice could be the strongest argument. He’ll drive her away.

The door was ajar. An almost imperceptible creak notified Kabuto had left.  She paced around the room. Light and quick steps, as if her feet were plumed and she was merely grazing the floor. She sighed. Maybe her usual sung greeting was trapped in her throat.  No indicator of acknowledgment permeated his features.

 “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” The words were shaky. And yet, there was no stutter, no minutes of reflection before finishing the sentence.

“Then leave. I don’t want you here. You are embarrassing yourself.”

He didn’t steer his eyes to where she was supposed to stand. Instead, he conserved his lost gaze. _Itachi Uchiha_ didn’t care for her, she wasn’t important enough for _him_ to move his pupils.

“No,” she retorted, spite in her tone: his statement had fueled whatever intention she had. “I do know. The nurses told me you didn’t like the visiting room. So they brought me here.” She sat on the floor, as if saying _you won’t drive me away_ , “Pretty kind for an institution that’s trying to kill you, isn’t it?” Every word was poignant: she was angry. Then, why she was here?

He didn’t bother to answer. He’d let her talk, then, he’d tell her to leave.  He’ll drive her away.

There was silence. A heavy, slithering silence. Of those that weigh words down and tie them to the floor.

 “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-” She blurted, kindness overflowing over fury. He loved her kindness. No high pitch, but enough falter in her decision. A second. She breathed, in and out; the unwavering tone was back. “I’m sure the most intelligent thing would be leaving. But I won’t.”

Time to act. A smirk and a chuckle, he redirected his face her way. He was taller, seemed bigger. Perfect. Eyes wearing pity and disdain and mockery.

“You are stupid and over-trusting, have someone told you that?”

She inhaled the dense air. She exhaled.

“Well, you are a very good liar.” Her voice kept grip on that sharp quality, always a step louder than his. “But lies don’t make reality.”

She always wore her emotions in her voice. Today was no different.

“Reality doesn’t have much value when you forge it around your beliefs.” A plain response with a smidge of disdain.

Another breath. She sat straighter against the wall; the sound of clothes scuffing the floor.

“You have to reconsider your argument, then. For the only real thing is that you are trapped in this room with me and I’m not leaving. Not today.”

The whole argument seemed bizarre, too sterile. A play. Both had their words rehearsed but, who would win? Who was the best actor?

A false glare. Itachi moved with parsimony his left arm, accommodating it in his abdomen—forearm against his stomach: it would relieve the wrenching of his loins.

“Do you also exasperate your father like this? This is why you are alone, Fuhimiko-san. Leave.”

She turned quiet, trying to find a comeback, any comeback. He’ll drive her away. But why was sadness accumulating in his chest? It was a stupid question, he knew why. Attempting to kill the sensation with logic was useless; every word he spat hurt him.

 “No. I’m staying. I’m staying and I’m learning what the hell happened in the last month.” It was difficult to figure to whom her words were addressed: the timbre both encouraging and reproaching.

He regretted not paying more attention to the floor plan of the institution. Then, maybe he would have left his room and find another secluded place where he could stay alone. However, Itachi only knew his way to the communal locations. It was Satomi or a _Feelings Workshop_.

“Then, stay all you want.”

He stood up. In one large stride, Itachi was in the corner where he kept his books. Most of them were bought by her or with her recommendation, nevertheless, they were a good enough tool to ignore her presence: hers or not, it showed lack of interest in the current conversation. In little time he was back in his bed, he sat against the frame, book opened in his hands, fingers touching dots, face openly disregarding hers.

Satomi allowed him to take the book, she allowed him to sit in the bed. Her pupils should have followed him in his short walk, examining his gestures, guessing his intentions. Apart from her eyes, though, nothing moved. Even her lungs sounded paralyzed.

Itachi feigned concentration: he hadn’t been capable of a thoughtful reading since entering the institution, and Satomi only worsened his condition. He let time slide with his fingers; visits were short, in any moment she’ll have to leave. Minutes passed. Dots passed. A cold gush of air passed.

Then, he felt the mattress dipping, its springs creaking.

“Perfect. If you don’t want to talk, then I will. I’ll tell you what I have done this last month.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t listen, then.”

With the same grip on the book, Itachi continued to graze the black protuberances. He moved his hand in the rhythm he considered normal and passed the page. Not a word of the text stayed in his mind.

“I had a concert, last month at the end of autumn. It wasn’t a concert, it was a recital. Of those didactic ones, with explanations for the public. Many piano soloists were playing, but they asked me to close. I was really excited, but also terrified; my father said he wanted to see me, and my uncle was bringing him. But you already know that. Itachi, are you listening? I’m not staring at you, I’m looking at the wall in front of your bed. I’m sorry if I’m annoying, but I have to do this. I can be really stubborn sometimes, guess we have that in common.” Her voice broke. A desperate sigh left her throat, but she continued. “And I asked a person I cared about a lot to come because he managed to make me smile the last time I talked with my father and I didn’t want to ruin the night. It was my first official recital and I wanted it to be nice. Itachi, that person was extremely nice and kind and although he had a strange sense of humor, he was actually really funny. And I was beginning to fall in love with him. He kissed me in the first date and it was just our lips grazing and it was beautiful. So, of course, I had to call him in the middle of the last rehearsal of that day. He told me he was playing with me and that he didn’t care about my feelings. I hung up, and dried my tears and went back to practicing.”

A monologue. The sentences had been practiced, rehearsed. But behind the performance Itachi sensed _sincerity_. And fear and a hole in her stomach that sucked her lungs dry.

He passed the page, digits burying themselves in the paper.

“You didn’t go, Itachi. You should have, my father was more ill than usual and if you had been there, maybe-” She stopped in the middle of the sentence, kicked the air in front of the bed and sighed, again. “I know this isn’t fair, I shouldn’t have put that kind of burden on your shoulders, you were already fighting with this, but I didn’t know I-”

His heart was drumming in his chest. He passed the page. His ears were drinking every syllable Satomi pronounced, it was inevitable.

“At first Shisui didn’t want to tell me anything. He just said that you were an idiot and that he knew you liked me. I didn’t know what to think. Because you had been so convincing on the phone and I was so afraid of talking to you again and having my heart broken in tinier pieces. I even thought of calling to your house, but if you didn’t want to talk with me, why would I? The best option was to forget you and continue with my life. But God, when Shisui blurted out that you were in a psych-ward I was so scared, I thought you had tried to kill yourself and that this was all my fault, I should have noticed you were depressed. Itachi I’m so sorry. And of course there’s nothing wrong with being here, I just want you to be happy and I have promised myself I wouldn’t cry; but I have from the beginning. You realized, didn’t you? Also, I'm throwing out a whole speech, I know. I’m sorry. I-"

She touched his right arm carefully as if to confirm him that she existed and that she was in that small room.

“Itachi, I-” His arm was burning, his face was cold as death. He tried his best to hide any emotion. He passed another page. “I know I can’t save you, but let me help. Whatever is happening we can-”

 She jumped when the door opened. Kabuto entered and when he was already in, he performed those three familiar and intrusive knocks in the entrance.

“Sorry Fuhimiko-san, but the visiting hour is over. Please head to the reception.”

Itachi heard her mutter a bye.

“Fuhimiko-san.” Her paces were inaudible and quick; his voice merely managed to stop her at the door. She responded with a hum, indicating acknowledgment. “Don’t come back. I don’t want you here.”

 “I don’t like liars, Itachi.” The voice wavered at the middle of the sentence.

He noticed she left: the room’s air colder, the atmosphere drier, soundless. Her last words resonated along the white noise of the hallway. Itachi let his façade fall, smirked — a sad, self-depreciating smirk—, and made one last retort.

“Then you don’t like me.”


	24. Chapter 24

There is a sensation common in amputees: phantom limb. The hand disappears, but the response it’s still there, the soul doesn’t seem to understand the loss. In all his days inside intermediate care, Itachi’s eyes constantly caught an explosion of light; a painful, illuminated second before everything went dark again. It felt as if he could see. As if Shisui’s face stamped a grin and with sad eyes was actually there and not projected in his cornea by dint of his mind.

Phantom Eyes.

The concept was surreal: there is a slight difference between pain in an organ that isn’t there and a useless organ working. Either way, the memory of sight was there, and it only made the inevitable stay in blindness harsher.

When Satomi crossed the threshold of his room, the phantom eyes returned. A glimpse of blue and a white light and the dirty walls of a minuscule room and a small pile of books —already corroding for the humidity— thrown in a corner. A blink and the ghost vanished.

“Hello,” She greeted, still no song in her voice. “Today you are looking particularly bad, did you sleep well?”

Was that headache there before his eyes fooled him, or was it a part of their trick? He blinked again. Maybe violence was the only way of driving Satomi away. But, was he capable of doing it? Itachi didn’t doubt his mind. But he was sick, weak.

“Don’t answer if you don’t want. It’s alright. But still, you’ll have me here for the whole visit.”

She accommodated herself in the same spot as yesterday; her back slid through the wall until she was seated on the floor.

“I know what you are wondering: why is she still coming? Isn’t she getting tired of my shit?” She said, impersonating a male voice for his alleged thoughts. This was the first time he heard her swear; his eyes widened, but he tried to quickly hide the action. “Pardon the swear. I usually don’t do it, but it helped to accentuate. And to answer: I asked my uncle to cover me from three to six every afternoon. That gives me enough time to get here and back to the mall; and yes, I’m tired of your silly routines, but the best way to stop them is being here.”

Stubborn she was. Her explanations generated another question. Itachi was tired of being misinformed, especially when he used to know more. Now, everybody seemed to have a hold of his life, except himself. Where was his family? From the first day Satomi had appeared in the ward, they hadn’t come.

“You know about my family.” He didn’t phrase his inquiry as a question. However, the monotone voice hid the question.

“Sorry, Itachi. I have no idea. Maybe they are busy. Still didn’t you say you wanted to rot alone in this place?”

He chuckled, full of fake scorn and hate.

“Don’t extend it to others. It is you and your pathetic efforts I don’t want to hear.”

“Don’t worry. Today I’m not talking about my feelings.” Although she tried to hide it behind a sharp tone, Itachi felt a tinge of melancholy in her voice. “Instead, I brought you a reading. You probably know it. The Four Noble Truths from Buddhism. My father adored this text. That isn’t its name, but I surely can’t say the original.”

“Don’t waste your voice. I don’t care about it. Leave.”

As the day before, Itachi made the same trail: a few steps to the corner, he took the first book his hand touched and went back to the bed.

“First a bit of history; you obviously know the story of Gautama Buda. But to avoid talking about feelings and showing myself even more pathetic, maybe we should review it.”

“Do as you wish, I don’t plan to listen.”

“Alright. I’m going to review it, then.”

Today, Satomi was wearing her lower tone, the one she used to suture great emotional wounds. The sarcasm and nonchalance in her gestures were her solution to yesterday’s honesty.

“Siddhartha Gautama was a prince. They say the night his mother conceived him, a white elephant pierced her side and that Maya, the name of his mom, gave birth to him under a sal tree, and then died. But the most important part of his childhood is that during the celebrations of his birth a hermit left the mountains to meet him, and prophesized little Siddhartha would be either a great king or a great sage. But his father wanted him to be a king, so he shielded his son from any kind of human suffering: no death, no sickness. The prince was always protected behind the magnificent walls of his castle.” Satomi stopped with her story and fidgeted with the small book she had brought. Itachi could hear the opaque sound of her fingers playing with the pages. Two minutes or more, passed before she started to talk again.

“I always found really funny that part when I was little. How could his father stop people from aging, or getting sick? My dad said that maybe the king took away from him all the people that didn’t appear young or who had an illness. But now I wonder, wouldn’t then Siddhartha have asked his father where were they? And he would suffer anyway, because separation hurts. Anyway, he grew up sheltered and married a woman; but while his wife was pregnant, he heard in his palace someone singing a song. It was a sad song. And he had to ask what that feeling meant. They told him her song was sad, and he asked what that meant. They explained suffering to him and Siddhartha decided he wanted to meet his people, to know suffering; like that he could be a better king.”

Satomi stopped again, Itachi maintained his stare fixed on the pages that passed through his fingers; methodically, he took the paper's ear in his thumb and index and changed the position of the dots he didn't try to comprehend.

Satomi sighed: her breaths were almost ragged. She wanted to cry again.

“I’m sorry Itachi, I know I promised I wouldn’t cry today, but my eyes are already wet. I-”

“You shouldn’t show your weaknesses Fuhimiko-san. I might attack you with them.”

She emitted a strangled chuckle.

“Well Itachi, someone has to bring the honesty to this relationship.” Itachi heard a dry, sliding noise, as the one when paper glides against paper. Her voice quivered at the middle of the sentence only to become higher and pitched.  “Besides, what do you plan on doing? Complaining like an old man until I leave?” The pipes screeched. A cold gust of air passed the door. Another headache started. Pain spreading from the back of his cranium; small bones vibrating and inserting themselves into his brain. How to drive her away? And he knew and he felt his stomach closing. What to do? Satomi shouldn’t lose her time here, even in he missed her, even if, somehow having company made the air softer. He closed his eyes and let the throbbing of his skull control his conscience. Dots touched his skin, but there wasn't any meaning behind them.

 “And then there was I again, telling you my weaknesses. Let me give you more weapons: why do you think my father loved this story so much? And the noble truths? He used to recite them to me when I was sick or sad. That infuriated me. I just wanted comprehension, not a complete philosophy. And I wonder, what I’m doing here, trying to comprehend or just straight out annoying?”

She didn’t notice anything. There wasn’t an exterior sign of his pain, there never was.

Annoying, he wanted to say. Hurting, he thought. But he stayed in silence. His little farce turned another page of the book.

“Going back to Buddha, Siddhartha arranged a visit to one of his villages, and his father tried to hide all the suffering, which means ill, dead, and elder people; but he couldn’t and the prince saw everything and a great compassion for all living things started to torture him. He left his wife and newborn son and started a journey to find a way to stop the suffering. He discovered nor complete asceticism nor complete hedonism could cure it. Here the four noble truths enter, so I’ll start reading now.”

It wasn’t difficult to understand her message: don’t torture yourself, Itachi, Buddha supported her. But he didn’t have a middle path, he only had pain. There wasn’t anything to be done, no decision to be made. Madara had taken the change away from him.  And she made him hope. And she had to leave.

Leave and let him rot in the humid walls and venous floors of Orochimaru’s ward. Leave and let him die. Leave and stop trying to cure the wound. Leave and take with you the hope.

“There are these two extremes that are not to be indulged in by one who has gone forth. Which two? That which is devoted to sensual pleasure with reference to sensual objects: base, vulgar, common, ignoble, unprofitable; and that which is devoted to self-affliction: painful, ignoble, unprofitable.”

Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave.

His head hurt. His heart hurt.

This was his last try. He couldn’t endure the pain. Let everything be numb. Let his room suffocate the thoughts, the sensations, the fear, the hope. Let him die.

Let this be the last time he heard her.

Itachi stood up, he ignored the dizziness, the nausea, and walked towards her voice. One, two, three steps. He couldn’t be selfish. For her life.  He hunched down. She continued her recitation. The words transformed into warm air and crashed into his face. Closer to her. And time didn’t seem to pass. And there was an alarming trembling in her voice. Closer. His hands heavy, too heavy to carry: Itachi left them at his sides, like dead weight.

“Leave. Right now.”

Words hoarse and low. His breaths tangled in the throat. For her life. She had to get away from him. The last chance.

“And this, monks, is the noble truth of the origination of stress: the craving that makes for further becoming — accompanied by passion and delight, relishing now here and now there — craving for sensual pleasure, craving for becoming, craving for non-becoming,” She muttered, words thick. Quivering traveling in her whole reading. “And this, monks, is the noble truth of the cess-”

And then, his hands were on her throat. Pressure, veins throbbing against his fingers. She moved and fought and his face continued stoic. The pressure was uniform. Sweaty palms over his hands, strands of hair touching his cheek. Then, there was a tear.  And between her gasps, he heard a whimper. Stop, she asked.

He did.

Hands burnt and fell to his sides, again. He was tired, he was falling. Knees resonated against the concrete floor. Air, everything was dry and airless. Itachi heard her gaps, her sobs. Tears were dropping from his eyes. He heard his own sobs

Itachi didn’t realize when he apologized. But he did: sorry left his mouth interwoven in a quiet cry. Salt invaded his mouth.

Satomi didn’t move. She stayed still, the only thing revealing her presence were the cries and the short breaths.

“Whatever it is, why can’t we overcome it together?” Her question perforated his entrails. Satomi’s voice was forgiving and quivering, her last try. Something hurt.

Her fingers grazed his hand. Blood started boiling. The warmth extended from his hand to the rest of his body. Goosebumps protruded his skin. Her movement had been gentle and dainty, soft enough to not have been done; Satomi was shaking. Itachi could hear her breathe: heavy exhalations tried to hide her cries.

“Let’s start again.” Her last plea. He wanted to be selfish. He was tired. The room was cold and humid and he could feel snakes creeping up his legs, the noise of the hallways was unbearable, and he thought how he would wake up and sleep and wake up and swallow and wake up and eat and sleep and his ribs became as constricting as the room. He would be selfish.

Itachi let his fingers tangle with hers. A warm droplet crashed against the back of his hand.  It seemed a natural gesture: touching her was the only thing he needed to do. He wanted to keep her close. Nerves itched. He was going to start again. Let there be hope. Let her be there.

“Hello, my name is Itachi Uchiha.”

She emitted a wet, strangled laugh.

“Hello, Uchiha-san. I’m Satomi Fuhimiko.”

Itachi smiled.

“You can call me by my name.”

“You can call me Satomi. Drop the honorific, I don’t like them much.”

After that, they stayed in silence. It was warm and soft and breathable. Hands yet tangled. Satomi was still crying, but he caught glimpses of smiles between her wails. He let time pass, weight forcing his bones down, auguries of a brighter future drowning his head. Many minutes passed before her weeping receded. With unsteady legs, she stood up; her fingers caressing his.

“You have a lot of books here, Itachi. Do you like to read?”

“You see Satomi, I can’t see: reading is particularly hard for blind people.”

There was still trembling, pain and confusion in his tone. But Itachi didn't care, he let her hear. It was their second first meeting.

“I see… You are blind. It’s okay, I can read to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good author: doesn’t put the story in hiatus.  
> Bad author: updates every five weeks.  
> But hey! This was a very important chapter and I wanted it to be perfect. Thank you for reading and please, please, please comment <3


	25. Chapter 25

The next day Satomi arrived at four o’clock. Visits had just begun: from his room, he could hear the weary feet scuffing the corridors’ floor. Kabuto led her to his room. She knew the way, his assistance was just a cover for surveillance. Itachi wondered how Shisui had threatened the asylum to give him access to daily visits; by his current behavior, Itachi didn’t have a right to them.

“Hello,” Satomi greeted, singing her salute for the first time in a month. The door creaked and Itachi listened to Kabuto’s steps as he walked down the hallway. The entrance was left ajar, as always.

“Good afternoon,” he responded, albeit he didn’t change his position at her entrance. Itachi continued lying in bed; mattress hurting his back, forearm pressing against his eyes, blood running drowsily through his veins. He was tired, lethargic. The day before, after had Satomi left, electricity started to bolt through his nerves, lightning congregated in his fingertips. He spent many hours trying to understand what that sudden explosion of energy meant, but he couldn’t find the exact cause. It had something to do with his last decision about Satomi, but what was his body trying to say? Had he made the right choice? Was being selfish a good decision?

“You should stop coming every day, I know how busy your day is, don’t waste it on me.”

He wasn’t trying to push her away, not now. Itachi wasn’t completely sure what had weakened his resolution. Maybe a combination of her own determination and the frantic throbbing of her throat against his hands. Either way, he couldn’t hurt her more. Either way, her presence combated his apathy.

“Don’t’ worry about that, I’ll sort it out. Just-” She stopped mid-sentence with the same apprehension in her voice he had heard so many times before; but then, he felt her brush her fingertips across the back of his hand. Satomi stopped merely after grazing his skin. “Just get better, just worry about that,” she whispered.  The pips shrilled with great force, making the wall behind him vibrate. It was raining.

“Do you like snow?” He blurted out in a hushed voice, Itachi was drowning between the chirring and the distinguishable drops that hit the roof. Forearm pressed harder against his eyes.

“I do.” It was almost impossible to hear each other over the heavy rain. She was sitting near him, the bed faintly bent under her weight. “But maybe it is better if it doesn’t snow this year.”

When he was a child, Itachi loved winter: the first day of snow, Sasuke always woke him up at irrational hours, asking to go out and play. He helped his little brother to get dressed and they settled themselves in the backyard until breakfast.

“Did you get the blanket?”

He didn’t comprehend; the noise, her presence, and the low murmurs had worn-out his awareness. Itachi moved his arm away from his face and opened his eyes. He stayed silent, trying to glue together the words she had susurrated.

“I left a blanket for you days ago, did you received it?”

He thanked her for rephrasing the question. This was the first time she had to repeat something to him, perhaps he was also losing his audition.

“I haven’t earned it.”

“I hope you don’t earn pneumonia.” Her tone was both angry and comical.

Pneumonia wasn’t that bad. His answer was a hum.

“Today I managed to slip a lot of stuff past the reception,” she muttered near his face; her whole body leaning in, almost hovering above him: it was the only way to hear each other with the heavy rain pouring outside. Her breaths were warm, her attitude was the one of a child confessing a prank to a friend—excited, happy, cautious. “And, by a lot of stuff, I mean shampoo, sweets and a sweater.”

The conjunction of her complicit tone, the whispers, and the trivialness of her merchandise implanted a laugh in his chest; he chuckled.

“You are a very good dealer.”

 “I can’t believe they don’t let you have this. It’s illegal, I’m sure,” she grumbled.

“Don’t worry about me."

She hadn’t liked his response, Itachi noticed by dint of the weighty silence that followed his statement. He stayed quiet, not even moving his limbs, whilst he waited for her to determine her next words.

“When was the last time you washed your hair?”  There was a gloomy inflection in her question. His words had distraught her.

“Don’t know.” Itachi remembered letting the water run through it, he remembered Shisui had tried to detangle it. But he didn’t think he had properly washed it since he entered the ward. Satomi stood up, walking across his room to the place where Itachi assumed, she had left her bag. There was a certain anxiousness to her stride, the pace reminded him of shallow breathing. However, although her steps were fast, she didn’t come back to his side. “You are mad.”

He felt the impulse to sit after his statement. The movement so fast, that for a second, he wasn't anything but dizziness.

“I got shampoo.” She ignored his response, again.

“You have already said that.”

The first time he met Satomi, he believed she was mysterious, enigmatic. However, there were times where she was transparent, her skin oozing every thought.

“Yes, I had.” Satomi’s voice trembled, she realized he had caught her. Itachi moved away from the bed frame, letting his feet touch the floor. Cold seeped through his socks. “I just-” She tried to explain with a docility very contrary to the stubbornness that had led both of them to this moment. “I don’t like how you talk about yourself.”

There was nothing Satomi could do.  If he was going to die in the asylum, it would be to maintain his family's and her happiness.

“I don’t use shampoo,” he said, trying to lighten up the incredibly condensed atmosphere.

“What do you use, then?”

She followed his scheme with little resistance. A lower voice protected her from the vulnerability she had just shown.

“Soap.”

Itachi heard a sniff and a sigh. She had been on the verge of crying.

“What are you? A monster!” Satomi feigned indignation with theatrical exaggeration.  However, she rapidly shifted her tone, replacing the dramatics for what seemed a sincere advice. “Let’s wash your hair, it’ll make you feel better. I promise. I’ll even help you, if you want.”

Subconsciously, Itachi touched the back of his head. Fingertips were greeted by oil and knots; each strand was coated in grease. The tie he used in his usual hairstyle was almost untouchable, buried under tangled hairs; Itachi tore it away, breaking strands.

“Alright.” He stood up and headed to the bathroom. Satomi followed him, the bottle in her right hand.

She instructed and he complied.  Itachi reclined in front of the washbasin; his head barely fitted between faucet and bottom. It felt heavy and not his, the fear of his own weakness made him tremble. Satomi put a towel on his shoulders. It was dragging him to the floor.  Finally, she turned the faucet on. Water fell directly into his scalp, some drops slid through his cheeks, accumulating on the tip of his nose. He heard her say the word wet, but he couldn’t understand the complete sentence. His saliva was acid, the water was cold. When Sasuke was little, Itachi used to help him to wash his hair. In the bathtub, he squished the bottle and distributed the shampoo in both of his hands, then he massaged. Sasuke laughed as his fingers touched his scalp. Itachi didn’t laugh when Satomi’s did, but a tingling pleasure ran from the place she touched, across all his vertebrae, to his dorsal spine. The trembling, the nausea seceded. Then, he perceived the fragrance: either herbs or green tea. He liked it; she had thought about him.  She rinsed him out and repeated the process, _it's really dirty,_ he got to hear. The lather piled up in Itachi’s ears; she continued to massage. He wished her fingers stayed forever in his scalp; but then, water supplanted them.  Chilly water that took away the suds and the dirt and her lovely hands.

“Done.”

He abandoned the hunched position the small sink had obligated him to perform. His hair dripped water, fortunately, there was the towel. Satomi led him back to the bed and told him to sit. She used the same towel to pat his hair. Then, she started to brush it, commencing with the tips.  Itachi didn’t know what moment she had gotten the brush. It wasn’t surprising, today, many things had left his grasp.

“Maybe I should have brought conditioner, too. Your hair is extremely tangled.”

He hummed. His head felt lighter now. A feeling of tired contempt made his eyes heavier.

“Leave early today. Don’t exhaust yourself.”

“Don’t worry, Itachi. It’s okay. Brushing hair isn’t tiring.”

The storm was lacerating the roof of the asylum. Walls made a thunderous noise. From time to time, she used her fingers to detangle a particularly hard spot.  After sensing his lassitude, Satomi stopped talking; instead, she sang what appeared to be a lullaby — her voice soft and creamy —, sometimes descending into total silence before rising up.

She was still trying to obliterate the knots of his hair when Sasuke entered the room. Kabuto opened the door while knocking. He made a comment about his many visits that Itachi didn’t care enough about to comprehend and presented Sasuke. The same rules Kabuto chanted every day were addressed to the visitant, still waiting in the hallway. Itachi could hear Kabuto’s steps taking him away from his room, and Sasuke’s leading him inside. His brother stopped at the threshold, surprised by the scene.

“Nii-san.” Sasuke had the ability to deliver a million questions under the disguise of two syllables. He wanted to know what Satomi was doing at his side.

“Come in,” Itachi responded. His brother’s inquiries could wait. The bristles caressed his scalp; Satomi was finishing.

“Hello, Sasuke.” She greeted without distracting herself from her current task. It was funny how her words carried a reproach. _I’m also here_ , Satomi meant. In spite of walking until he was near the bed, his brother remained standing.

“Did you like the books I brought?” Sasuke asked. Then, he started pacing around the room.

“Yes.” Itachi hadn’t read much, but he was grateful for his thoughtfulness, anyway.

“I helped him choose them, but some of them were his own decision,” Satomi said, still concentrated on his hair. Sasuke continued walking in circles. Nervous. Itachi had witnessed that attitude many times, even in this room.

“Why don’t you sit?” Satomi asked, robbing him the suggestion.

Suddenly, his little brother stopped, talking once again from the side of the bed.

“I have to talk to you.” He blurted. If he hadn’t told him anything yet, the information couldn’t be shared. Satomi had to leave. Itachi turned his head but was held back by a hand on his neck.

“I’ll leave in just a second. Just let me finish.” His brother left out an exasperated sigh, however, Satomi continued her work at the same unrelenting pace. “You aren’t going to do it and someone has to,” she countered in a nonchalant tone while passing the towel through his hair. Sasuke seemed to accept her reasoning and stayed in a corner of the room, uneasiness concentrating around him.

The three were quiet while she finished. After a breathed done, she handed him a hair tie —red, as you like, she had said— and headed towards the door.

“I left what I brought at the side of your bed, find good hiding spots.”

Satomi addressed her goodbyes to both of them, the door creaked as she opened it. Sasuke started moving again, trailing all the room.

“Satomi,” he stopped her. The hinges produced a metallic wail as the door moved. “Thank you for taking care of my brother.”

The tonality of the room changed, the taste of white, soft tenderness replaced the black bile.  He could feel Satomi’s smile in her answer: “It’s alright, you have also done it, Sasuke.”

Nothing was heard in the hallway when Itachi talked again. His brother was still standing up, the slimy walls staining his back. The rain had decreased, as well as the wails of the pipes.

“What do you want to tell me?”

 “I quitted UchihaCorp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, yes, I just spent a complete chapter explaining how Itachi's hair in the last few months has been a bird's nest. You are welcome.
> 
> On a more serious note, I want to thank you all for reading, leaving kudos and leaving your kind comments, they keep me going. Also, I have been working more on this fic, so there might be more regular updates, at least on december.  
> Love you...


	26. Chapter 26

“Did something happened yesterday?” Satomi asked. Her tone was soft and the syllables were breathed.

After so many monotonous days —sleep, swallow, swallow, swallow, sleep—, time had started to flow again. He could feel the earth moving under his feet, turning very fast; fast enough to threaten him with throwing him out of his orbit. Something had happened. Now he had the certainty of the outside, of something that transcended the silly workshops and the sardonic smile of nurses. And that realization, the fact that the truth he had tried to bury had come back, roared in a thunderous crescendo. Shisui, Sasuke, his family, they were away from the realm of poisonous drugs and doors left ajar; they didn’t fear the pasty nightmares, they feared Madara and his power and the potential doom of a life away from all they were acquainted with. But Itachi just hummed.

Satomi arrived in the precise minute the visits began; she had caught him with hair tangled and a cold skin. Eyes closed and raised arms, he let her put on him yesterday’s sweater. Eyes closed and head leaning back, he let her play with his hair. Her wrist made the brush move in long, languid falls.

“Then don’t tell me.”

His hair was again enclosed with a hairband, Satomi was still sitting behind him on the edge of the bed. She deposited the brush on the floor, muttering an _I’ll take it later_ — to the bathroom, it was, as from now on said object was part of his intimate collection of hygiene utensils. He was in the midst of imagining the wooden comb carefully put in the sink’s cabinet when warm air —accompanied by a shy, elongated and low “ah”— crashed into his neck.

“Sorry,” she apologized, the yawn still thick in her mouth.

“Are you tired?” Itachi asked while turning around, the friction of the air made every movement harder. Maybe he was too comfortable before —her body slightly leaning on his back—, maybe he was too extenuated.

“Just sleepy.”

Her fingers grazed his, and then warmth started running through his veins. How had he kissed her without becoming air and flying away?

“Don’t come if you are busy. I don’t need it.” He tried to fetch his hand away. It didn’t respond, between the soft warmth and the short shivers, it just stayed still, letting the fingers of a pianist play with its palm.

“Are we going to start this again?” There wasn’t true fury in her expression, just feathery exasperation.

“Rest here.”

“You want to sleep, don’t you?” Satomi giggled.

Was it true? Itachi didn’t know, still, he laid on the bed, letting his back touch the mattress. He felt her do the same. The cot was too narrow for two; hair touched his cheek, controlled breath tingled his nose. She yawned again. Then, he did the same.

“Did you know that if you yawn after another person it means you were looking at them?”

Itachi smiled.

“I’m always looking at you.”

Satomi draped the blanket, which she had carefully folded after arriving, on the two. He felt bold, and let his fingers tangle in her hair. He missed the feeling. Scented silk, creamy breath. She almost made him forget about the sourness of his mouth. Was Sasuke coming today? He didn’t have a job, but he and Itachi had had a discussion. Satomi sighed contently. He shouldn’t bother with his family matters now.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, words tasting like cream. He thought of bedtime kisses and warm Sunday afternoons. Satomi hummed, her breath caressed his face. Her hand loosely grabbed his sweater; was the wool as sweet to the touch as her hair?

“I don’t know-” The last word was elongated and exhaled. She waited before finishing her sentence. White fur and faint drops of rain. How many days could they do this? Ignore the outside world? Ah, but her presence made him think of home and a pleasant future. “Nothing in particular,” she finished.

He loved her whispers. His finger spun a tress of her hair. And he felt a child again, sneaking into his parent’s bedroom to sleep next to them; balmy covers lulling him to sleep, his mother caressing his cheek, his father’s drowsy voice.

“Elaborate that.”

He heard Satomi chuckle, she found his strange choice of words funny.

“What do you want to hear?” Of all the colors of her voice, until now, this was his favorite one. The tonality, tranquil and sleepy was more beautiful than those highs and lows her throat released when she tried to hide her soul. He yearned to hear that same intonation the rest of his nights, their children already asleep, Satomi tired after a hard day but still trying to articulate long speeches for his delight. 

“Anything.”

He also wanted to learn. He wanted to know every little detail of her life. What did she dream? Did she want a pet? How did it feel to be homeschooled? What had happened to her father? Why was she here? Did she love him?

“Your voice is too coarse, does it hurt to speak?" Satomi’s fingers grazed his throat, and his skin tingled. But, behind the delicate sensation, Itachi remembered what he had done and guilt accumulated in the lower back of his head.

“No.” He had gotten used to it. Maybe now that she was here, his vocal chords would remember how to talk.

“I was thinking about all the things I don’t understand about you,” she said, her legs slightly shifting under the blanket. “Why are you here and what’s happening. And how silly it is that just being near you makes me happy.”

A true smile. One he couldn’t suppress and that made its way to his heart. Being around her made him happy, too.

“Not very cohesive.”

“You might have noticed, but cohesion is not one of my strengths,” Satomi answered, imitating the playfulness he had just used. “And you, what are you thinking about?”

“That it’s time to take a nap before you go home.”

“That’s not fair. Say something too.”

Itachi closed his eyes and feigned snoring, blatantly exaggerating the ups and downs of his chest. Satomi continued arguing and he had to fight the commissures of his lips from twitching upwards.

Soon enough, she stopped bickering. And her breathing became more placid. And he beamed.

Then, without really wanting or realizing, Itachi fell asleep.

A headache woke him up, his fingers still tangled in her hair. The cold pooled on his bones, a relenting pain started to fluctuate from his insides. However, he found this sleep comforting, tender, the complete opposite of the fatiguing white dreams that had accompanied him since he entered the institution. It was the first time in more than ten years that he fell asleep with someone besides him.  He thought of summer nights and storms crashing against his bedroom windows, Sasuke giggling at his side while trying to hide his fear of thunder. Peace at his chest and his brother’s little hand held to his own. He wondered if things were different now. Maybe his brother was still the same frightened boy that tiptoed to his bed in search of comfort and advice. Maybe only he had changed, now he couldn’t protect Sasuke; he was weak and tired and locked away, and this time the challenge wasn’t to survive the tapping of water against the window, but to survive the revolt of their own lives, their own principles, their own family. Fortunately, his family had a new presence now. One that didn’t embrace the same ideas. 

Itachi didn’t know how much time had passed, but he hoped it wasn’t much. He didn’t want Satomi to leave yet. He stayed still, very, very still, relinquishing every small movement she made on her sleep. Once or twice he caught her murmuring incoherent words. He hated when the pipes creaked, afraid that the noise or the slight trembling of the wall would wake her up. He was being selfish, but he felt so appeased…

Nevertheless, he should wake her up before Kabuto entered the room to monitor the prisoner and take her away. He waited a little longer, he had to enjoy the velvety daze while he could. Then, he carefully touched her temple and caressed her cheek and her jaw and-

“Don’t touch me!”

Paradise was broken and he fell out of Eden and the bed bounced as Satomi stumbled away from his hand. Yes, the same hand he had used to scare her away. The air was pasty, again. Bile scratched his mouth, again. Itachi understood, but still, his face was creased with confusion. Her breathing was ragged, and at least, at least, she hadn’t screamed, because then, then his ribs would have collapsed.

She regained her composure rather quickly and muttered a sorry he didn’t want to acknowledge. Instead, he let the guilt spill. Itachi had done everything he could to destroy hope, however, in the middle of that pathway, he had hurt her.

“Forgive me.” Even if he had proclaimed he wanted her hatred, he couldn't accept her fear.

“It’s alright,” she answered, her fingers touching his. Both trembled. He sat on the bed and she kneeled —the perfect stance to escape if necessary.

“Don’t say that, I hurt you. What makes you think I won’t try it again?” He felt angry. At her for staying at his side. At him for harming her. At him for not stopping Madara. At him for trusting too much in his abilities. For not driving faster or slower. For not paying enough attention to the road. For not making a sharper turn. For not crushing his cranium.

“There isn’t a bruise, Itachi.” Her voice was wet. She was crying. He made her cry. “Just-” She stopped, the pitch of her voice was high, where was her slurry voice, her calm demeanor? “Just don’t do it again.”

“Do you fear me?” And his voice was monotone: his own way of avoiding tears.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then, why?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed deeply. “You didn’t want to harm me. I know. You weren’t going to choke me.” Satomi stopped talking. She took air. Itachi waited. He deserved the guilt for absolutely everything. “Perhaps, I’m terrified of waking up and realizing you are gone. Perhaps I fear you will lose your mind in this place. Perhaps, for just a second, you made me remember the last time I visited my father. ”

She guided him to her cheek. A tremulous smile wavering on her face.

“Forgive me,” Itachi repeated. He remembered an autumn day and her body crumbling in front of him. He remembered the forlorn it’s getting worse.

“I like having you in my life, Itachi. Please don’t leave.”

He placed his left hand on her other cheek.

“I won’t.”

The rest of her visit, Satomi read to him. She had brought poetry, and Itachi listened intently, letting the words and her voice and the small pauses where he could hear her breathing soak him. But soon enough, Kabuto announced she had to go. She said goodbye and so did he.

Itachi found himself alone in his room, pipes screeching and hallways mumbling. He laid back on the bed —still warm— and thought and waited. What could he do for Sasuke? What did Madara think? Itachi knew it wasn’t an issue of power but of pride; with the Uchiha, it always was. And pride meant all his sacrifice was for nothing and his family had lost everything they had worked for. The patriarch was irritated with Sasuke, Itachi was convinced, more for the audacity of standing up to him than for the mere leave. He wondered if Madara had always been like that, so arrogant, so angry. Was he born like that? Didn’t he have friends or loved ones? Did he even care about the Uchiha, or was it all a big ruse to conserve his power?

Besides, he couldn’t but think about Satomi’s family. The suspicion that her father was a violent man had started to settle in his mind; perhaps that’s how she had met Shisui. A young —maybe too young— intern in the police-force, assigned to pass the cases to prosecution. One binder had slipped from his hand: child abuse. The intern watched all the trial, hand clasped on a fist —the girl child looked so small and so fragile—. The intern talked to the child, he gave her sweets, he became her friend. The child grew up with her uncle and played the piano.

It was irrational, but, there, in his bed, simply imagining a potential past, Itachi decided he hated Satomi’s father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with every note, I can give excuses and apologize for taking so long to update. But, I think you already have an idea: Real Life blah, blah, blah, dissertation, blah, blah, blah. Also, as always, thank your for reading and please, please, please comment, let me know what you think of this so far!


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